Metanoia
by PaperFrames
Summary: AU. Olitz. A priest & a Pope find there's more to life than just loneliness and heartbreak.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Wow, I never thought I'd be back in the Scandal fandom after leaving in S3. Never thought I'd be writing in it again, either, but I'm here. I'm back. I don't know for how long, though. Season 6 hasn't been a huge disappointment; still don't trust Shonda.

Anyways, this is an AU. ; Fitz is 41, Olivia is 24 (I went with Tony & Kerry's actual age difference).

Heavily inspired by The Lumineers 'Big Parade.'

* * *

 _Metanoia (n):_

 _The journey of changing one's mind, heart, self or way of life._

Olivia knows that parochial school is the last place she should be, but when she's offered the job, she takes it without hesitation.

She's never been religious. Didn't grow up with it in her household and never sought fit to find it on her own.

Teaching is her passion, though, and she didn't just sit through five years of undergrad for nothing. Plus, with the current teaching market, she knows she should be lucky to have been offered anything at all.

She doesn't meet her principal – Father Fitzgerald – until her first day. She'd originally interviewed with the head of the department she'd be teaching in (history) and the assistant principal.

He's tall, older – at least forty – with a pile of golden brown curls sitting on his head. His smile tugs upwards, crinkling his cheeks; she can't help but notice just how well his black dress shirt fits snug across his chest, the white collar resting pristinely at his throat. She swears there's a halo on his head.

If she'd passed him on the street, she'd never guess he was a priest. With that jaw line and those eyes, he was better suited to become a politician or actor.

He extends his hand out to her as they meet in the doorway of his office; his large digits eclipse her thin fingers and Olivia swears she feels a jolt of electricity as their hands separate; hers falls sheepishly to her side and she pulls the strap of her messenger bag closer.

"Hi," Father Fitzgerald greets.

"Hi," Olivia responds in kind.

They spend the afternoon going from classroom to classroom, meeting colleagues and lingering students preparing for the new year. It's clear that Father Fitzgerald is a well-liked man; magnetic even, as teachers, students, and parents flock to him.

At the end of day, they settle on an empty classroom, not too far from Father Fitzgerald's office. He holds the door open for her to enter and explains that this is her classroom; decorations are up to her discretion.

When he leaves her there, she sits at her desk and stares into space for a few moments.

He's better looking than a priest has a right to be. This strikes her as unfair, though, she's not sure why.

-x-

When Father Fitzgerald's eyes first fall on Olivia, he swears he hears a choir of beautiful angels sing.

It's a clichéd and hackneyed sentiment, but that's the only way he can describe the chorus of hallelujahs that sounds in his head.

She's gorgeous. Enough to steal the spotlight from Aphrodite. Bright brown doe eyes, deep brown skin, high cheekbones, and a tiny frame. She's young, twenty-four, but everything about her screams 'old soul.'

He gives her the classroom nearest his office and he watches for the next week as she schleps in decorations, books, and other miscellaneous items. He offers to lend her a hand and she hesitates before accepting. Next thing he knows, his sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and he's rearranging desk, hanging posters.

A poster of Peggy Schuyler glances back at him and he grins as he tacks it in place. The soft soles of Olivia's canvas tennis shoes sneak up on him and he feels her delicate hand on his shoulder.

He turns to find her holding out a bottle of water to him. August is rolling into September, which means sweat is a given as the weather doesn't know which way to go.

He cracks the lid and smiles as a he looks at all the posters on her wall. All women of various races and professions. From Joan of Arc to Mae Jemison. Father Fitzgerald can't help but to smile.

"Peggy Schuyler." he points to the poster he'd just tacked up.

She moves to stand beside him, her shoulder bumps against his and he wonders whether he should move away from her. Every accidental brush against her, every seemingly chaste touch leaves the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"I can hear the bemusement in your voice. You do know my degree is history, right?" She raises a brow at him, the apples of her cheeks swelling with the promise of a smile.

"It's not bemusement, more like appreciation. She did a lot for the Revolution. Not many give her enough credit. She gets sandwiched in as Hamilton's sister-in-law. You know she once busted up a Tori raid…" he loves to take any chance to show off his well-earned degree in history.

"Father Fitzgerald," she's impressed.

"Fitz. And what? You think you're the only one who can get a degree in history?" he arches his brows, a smirk tugging across his lips.

"Fitz?"

"Call me Fitz."

A look of incredulity crosses Olivia's face and she shakes her head, "I can't. I can't do that. It would be inappropriate; you're a priest."

A sly grin lines his lips and he chuckles lightly, "then let's be inappropriate, Miss Pope."

He watches as she rolls her eyes and knocks her shoulder into his arm, standing against him, before whispering a soft, "Fitz."

He doesn't move and neither does she.

-x-

A month into her tenure as a newly minted history teacher, Olivia finds herself standing in the doorway to Fitz's office. She's carrying a clear container filled with grilled chicken and lettuce, along with a sparkling water. It's lunch time and her stomach's growling.

"Room for one more?" she asks. She hasn't really been spending much time with her other colleagues; being so young and extensively more liberal in her views, she's found herself to be a bit of an outsider.

A pained look on Fitz's face greets her and she doesn't wait for his approval or welcome into his office. "You okay?" she asks softly, padding in.

Something between a grimace and a half-hearted smile tugs on his cheeks, as if it hurts to look at her.

The look alone threatens to crack Olivia's heart in half. She's never seen his face like this; conflict and confusion etched into the crinkles of his forehead and the lines around his mouth. Only God knows what has him this torn; this conflicted.

"I'll be okay."

That answer doesn't quite suffice for Olivia, who's taken the seat across from his desk and set her things down.

"But you're not right now. What's wrong?" she prods again softly, reaching across the desk for his left hand resting limply against his desk calendar. She squeezes it tightly, willing him to look at her.

"I thought _I_ was the priest. _I'm_ supposed to be comforting _you_."

"But I don't need to be comforted, _you_ do. Talk to me, Fitz." Olivia pleads.

An indiscernible look crosses his countenance. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and then opens it again.

"Sometimes, I wonder if I'm doing the right job. If this is right for me." he confesses.

She's had that thought, too. Almost too many times to recall. Most times though self-doubts came at the criticism of her father.

A genuine smile, one that reaches her eyes lights up her face. If anyone was meant for this profession, it was him.

"You're great with the kids and the community; everyone loves you, Fitz. What about this isn't right?" she reassures him, once again squeezing his hand.

Fitz squeezes back, his thumb rubbing across her knuckles, and their eyes meet. There's something in his expression, in his touch, in those greyish blue eyes that Olivia finds herself melting into in her dreams some nights. Whatever it is, it sends a jolt of electricity down her spine.

He gives her a lopsided grin, "nothing."

They hold hands a for a minute, just staring at one another and breathing. The only sound in the room is that of the hands ticking on the wall clock, counting down the seconds until they must part.

When she finally let's go, she yearns to grasp his hand once more; to intertwine their fingers, hold tight, and never let go.

From his spot on the wall above Fitz's head, Jesus stares at her, seemingly disapproving; Olivia looks away.

-x-

Christmas break is upon Saint Gabriel Our Lady of Sorrows Academy as Fitz makes his way towards Olivia's classroom. School let out almost two hours ago, but like him, Olivia always seemed to be the last one left in the building. Whether she be grading papers or preparing for the next day, she almost always hung around an extra couple of hours.

Outside snowflakes flutter to the ground; night takes over day.

In hand, he carries a small gift bag, inside is a hand-bound collection of Zora Neale Hurston's letters, one of the women on her wall, a token of appreciation to show Olivia just how much she means to him.

He thinks about her - about Olivia. A lot. Dreams of her often; some dreams salacious and impure that he's had to give himself hundreds of Hail Mary's and weeks of fasting to absolve.

When he gets to her classroom, he sees the door open; instead of knocking, he lets himself in. They rid themselves of formalities ages ago.

He's shocked to find she's not alone. Not only is she not alone, but she's kissing someone – or more astutely – she's being kissed.

A tall man, athletic, kind of thin, leans over Olivia. The mystery man holds a piece of mistletoe above her head.

The sound of his gift bag crashing to the floor break the two apart and a slight tint of red ripples across Olivia's cheeks. Inside his chest, Fitz's heart sinks to the pit of his stomach. He scrambles to shove the journal back into the tissue paper stuffed bag.

He should've known. She was far too beautiful, far too intelligent and charming to go through this life alone.

"I didn't realize…" he chokes out.

"Fitz," she speaks, brushing a hand across her lips. "This is uh…this is Jake, my uhm…friend."

Jake.

Fitz immediately doesn't like Jake. Not the smarmy look on his face and not the way he keeps a hand on the back of Olivia's chair, as if he's trying to mark his territory.

"Jake Ballard, Liv's boyfriend." Jake introduces himself, setting the mistletoe down on Olivia's desk, and extending his hand.

Fitz's doesn't take Jake's hand. He's afraid of what he'll do if he touches the other man. His thoughts are far from priestly, more so primitive and visceral. They scare him.

He's got to get out of here.

"Merry Christmas, Li – Miss Pope." He sets the bag down on her desk and back out as quickly as his feet will let him move.

-x-

The promise of spring hangs in the air, though the winter frost still clings to the ground. Mr. Groundhog has seen his shadow and local meteorologists says the cold will break soon.

Olivia sits in Fitz's office, arms crossed over her chest. This isn't a social call, nor a friendly visit. Ever since that day in December, he'd seen her kissing Jake, he's barely spoken to her. He didn't even respond to his thank-you card for the journal. He's mumbled a few cordial hellos, managed some small smiles, but something's different in him – with him. She misses him, their witty banter and small talk.

When he enters his office, he slams the door behind him. It vibrates on his hinges and she can't help but to flinch.

His normally dull blue eyes are electric, a jolt of red careens across his forehead. Pissed doesn't even begin to describe his current state.

"What do you think you're doing?" his baritone voice booms. Again, Olivia flinches.

"Fitz, she –"

"Father Fitzgerald, Miss Pope." he corrects; bemusement spreads across her face.

Whatever she did to him, he's yet to forgive. She thought priests were supposed to be magnanimous.

"Father Fitzgerald," she can't help the edge that seeps into her voice. He's yet to sit down, and she doesn't like the height he has over her, so she gets to her feet. "She came to me for help. I wasn't going to turn her away and let her get herself hurt."

"When you were hired here, we made it perfectly clear that we could not tolerate some of your more liberal politics."

"Liberal politics?" Olivia scoffs. She saw nothing political, only practical, about possibly preventing a teen pregnancy. "She's sixteen and swears she's in love. With or without my advice, she was going to have sex. Me giving her condoms, information on sexually transmitted diseases, and a way to get birth control wouldn't have changed that!"

"You crossed the line, Olivia! Thankfully enough her mother came home in time before Lizette could do something stupid!"

"Her mother didn't stop anything, Fitz, she just prolonged the inevitable and took away her daughter's safety. I was a sixteen-year-old girl once, I know how this works. If Lizette wants to have sex, she's going to have sex. Contrary to your church's beliefs, sex is worth more than procreation!"

Their voices continue to rise, an electrical charge pulses through the air. Olivia's on her feet know, walking and talking with conviction, with wisdom far beyond that of her twenty-four years.

"You shame these kids for something that is natural; refuse them options and hide information from them about sex, and you're putting them in harm's way. Abstinence isn't the only form of birth control, but it is the most ridiculous – and dangerous - to preach to a school full of hormonal teens."

She can hear her father's voice in her head, warning her not to throw away her brilliant historically inclined mind on teaching at a Catholic school with archaic views. More and more each day she wonders if she should've taken Eli Pope on his offer to head up the Smithsonian American History Museum archives. If she'd just taken this offer, she wouldn't be standing here defending herself for helping a student and she wouldn't be hurt by the coldness of a colleague.

"If you want to walk around like the Whore of Babylon with Jake, go for it, but leave the students out of it!" Fitz shouts.

Olivia visibly recoils, she takes a step back as if the wind has been knocked out of her. Her brows meld together in the middle of her forehead and she doesn't know what to say. Every word that comes to mind dies on her tongue. They glare at each other when she notices a flash of something a little too close to lust ripple across his face.

A lightbulb goes off in her head and a wry grin spreads across her lips. Now she gets it. His anger, his coldness. His mention of her now ex-boyfriend.

The accidental – though welcomed – touches. His soft grins, the class visits, the lunches.

All this time she thought it was in her head.

He's jealous.

 _He's a priest_.

Somehow while the gears had been spinning rapidly in her head, he'd closed the distance between them. He's barely an inch from her. She can feel his warm breath on her cheeks. His presence is overwhelming. Her head's foggy and she's suddenly parched yet drowning all at once.

Part of her wants to crank her hand back and knock his teeth in for his Whore of Babylon comment, another part of her wants to throw herself into his arms, and kiss him until she can't breathe.

Any semblance of logic she had is slipping away like grains of sand in the wind. He's leaning down, craning his neck, his eyes are on her mouth. Olivia licks her lips in anticipation.

Her heart thuds against the walls of her chest, her cheeks grow hot.

She wants this. She wants him. Now.

His lips are almost on hers; they're both breathing heavily in anticipation with the promise of what's to transpire when just like that, it's over.

The crucifixion tacked to the wall behind Fitz's desk slams into the ground with a loud bang; it jolts them apart, and sends Olivia running from the room. She keeps her head down, ignoring straggling colleagues and students as she makes the mad dash to her classroom.

St. Agnes of Rome, the venerated patron saint of chastity and couples, watches from the wall across the hall as Olivia goes.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank y'all for such a warm welcome back! Much appreciated.

Now, for the story: This was originally supposed to be a two-shot fic, but I ended up wanting to flesh out both Fitz and Olivia's backgrounds a bit more, so this is what you get.

I'm not sure how long this will be, I'm just going wherever it takes me right now.

 **The year is 2006, too, fyi.**

Also, for the guest that posted about canon ages: I went by what was on Scandal Wikia for these two. We all know how great Scandal continuity is.

Thanks for reading!

This if for Jazzy, my baby love, and for my prima Swany. Ily both. Thank you for your encouragement.

-M

* * *

He immediately takes a leave of absence from the school, disappearing like a thief in the night without so much as a goodbye. In his absence, vice principal Sally Langston takes charge.

His feet hit the ground running and he doesn't stop until he finds himself tucked safely within the walls of Blessed Sacrament Parish in Alexandria. Thirty-five minutes outside of D.C still isn't enough distance between them. He almost crossed the line; he almost crossed it.

If he closes his eyes, he can still see the pout of her full lips, the outline of her lithe body, and hear the hum of her voice. He'd been so angry with her, so furious, and somewhere along the way the rage gave way to lust; raw and unadulterated. His feet had moved of their own volition, his body drawing him to her, every inch of him yearning to touch her.

Every dream and inappropriate thought he'd had about her - lifting her into his arms, wrapping her thick thighs around his waist, palming her full ass, holding her soft curves and pert breasts against his bare chest – begged to become reality.

Divine intervention had separated them. The crucifixion falling from the sky like a pitcher of ice water down his pants.

What had he been thinking? Only he hadn't been; he'd just been acting on his most carnal desires, the most lascivious of thoughts.

When he makes his way through the church, in search of a confessional, she is his only thought still.

Is she okay? Had he hurt her? Had he scared her?

He pulls the curtain back and slides into place, ignoring that the man on the other side is a friend in arms, and speaks.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned."

-x-

Fitz has been missing in action now for three weeks. Vice Principal Langston offers no insight into his disappearance, but in his absence, she works to make Olivia's life hell.

Ever since the incident with Lizette, Olivia's been under harsh(er) scrutiny. She's almost never allowed to be alone with students, a nun or VP Langston consistently sit in on all her lessons.

It takes her a week into Fitz's leave to make up her mind to resign at the end of the year. Teaching is her passion, molding minds, and creating critical thinkers, her aim, but without Fitz, she isn't sure why she's here anymore. She's clearly the outsider and there will be no olive branches extended to her.

She tries to keep her mind off that moment in his office where she was ready to give it all to have him; her job; her moral understanding of right and wrong just to feel the hard planes of his granite-like chest press her against any flat surface; the rough palms of his oversized hands run across her taut nipples; her teeth nipping at his bottom lip as she –

If she were religious, she would find the need to confess her thoughts and sins, but she isn't. The only guilt she feels is that her presence has caused his absence from the place he loves to be. Like her, he loves to teach, and he loves children, but because of her, he can't be here.

She is the serpent in his Garden of Eden.

/

Two more weeks pass by and Olivia returns home after another day of monitoring by the dictator-in-principal; she finds Jake outside of her apartment, waiting.

"We broke up, Jake," she states flatly, "that means you can't just show up to my apartment whenever you'd like."

"That whole 'broke up' thing is what I want to talk to you about, Liv. Let me in." he reaches for one of her long braids and holds it between his fingers, looking at the ends in amusement. "Bet these go over well at a Catholic school."

Olivia snatches her hair back from his hold and opens her door, wondering what she ever saw in him. "You have five minutes." She sets her things down on the table near the door and peels off her coat and shoes.

It's been a long day and she has no intention of being his entertainment for the night. A bath, Chinese takeout, and a glass of wine were calling her name.

Out in the hall the sounds of her neighbors fighting carries through the building.

"I'll never understand why you choose to live in Anacostia, Liv. It's not safe here for you. Your dad bought you a place in Foggy Bottom, yet you're here."

"Four minutes and I'm here because I don't want my father's help. Now are you going to plead your case or continue with the unsolicited questions about my life choices?"

"If you made better life choices, I wouldn't have to question them, Liv."

"Three."

"Look," he starts as he makes his way to the tiny island that splits the room into sections, section one is her living room, section two is the kitchen. He opens her fridge and surveys it's barrenness.

"No beer?"

"I don't drink it, look, Jake—"

"I want us back. Together. You split up with me without any warning, Liv. We were good and then you and get that job at that stupid school to spite your father and move down here for god knows what reason and suddenly you're dumping me. We're good together, Liv."

She knew this was coming, from the moment she'd told him it was over, just before Christmas, just after Fitz has seen them together. Friend should've been a hint for Jake then, but clearly, he hadn't been listening.

"We're going in two separate directions, Jake. We just don't work anymore."

The truth is they'd been going in two separate directions from the moment he'd walked into her life. He was an arrogant law student at Georgetown, the son of one of one of her father's colleagues. She'd been lonely, so lonely, when she'd allowed her father to talk her into going out with him.

And for a bit there, Jake had kept her company; but his self-assurance, arrogance, and ignorance left a sour taste in her mouth. It'd quickly become clear to her that his presence in her life was coming down to a decision of self-respect vs. a warm body in her bed for the sake of it. He spent many nights scoffing at her decision to forgo law school, as she'd originally planned, to teach inner city kids instead. He'd scoffed even harder when she nixed her father's job offer after not having many teaching jobs come her way, and refused to move into the luxury apartment bought for her.

"I can't live the life you and my dad have mapped out for me in your heads." she continues.

But Jake isn't paying any attention to her, instead, he's staring at a photo on her refrigerator. A photo she'd forgotten she'd tacked up, though she smiled at it often.

Olivia immediately recognizes the picture. She'd taken it, and it's negative the moment the yearbook committee had brought them to her to ask if she wanted it included for the year.

It was taken during Homecoming Spirit week. In the photo she stands, dressed head to toe in a set of silver silk pajamas, her long black hair free of its current braids, and outside of some concealer and eyeliner her face is bare; she's smiling, hard, her attention on Fitz instead of the camera. Next to her stands Fitz, his arm wrapped around her small waist. He's dressed in a set of black and white flannel pajamas, and like Olivia, he only has eyes for her; camera be damned.

"Isn't this your boss?" Jake snarls, tossing the picture onto the counter.

She scoops the photo up, unable to stop the smile that tugs at her high cheeks as she sees the image. She misses him; she misses Fitz. If she must go to confessional and profess her sins, pretend to be religious, just to have him near her again, she will.

"I see; you dumped me because you're hot for teacher. Isn't he like fifty? Isn't he a _pries_ t?"

"Get out." Are the only two words she has left for him.

"Your father was right about you, Olivia. You are too stupid and idealistic for your own good."

The door vibrates on its hinges as Jake slams it shut. His words echo her father's, they sting like a scabbed over wound being ripped back opened. She double locks her door behind Jake as he goes, vowing that he won't get one tear out of her, and heads for her shower.

/

She dreams of Fitz for the thousandth time that night, but unlike the many times before where they spend the night engaged in the ilicit only to have the sun prematurely wake Olivia before the dream's end, they simply lay in bed together. Dream Fitz holds her as she tells him about her hopes and wishes. And unlike the other men in her life, he encourages each seemingly outlandish and idealistic thought. He allows her space to be herself.

When her alarm clock buzzes against the nightstand the following morning and Fitz suddenly disappears from her bed, she wonders when and how she got here.

How she went from a few stolen glances she convinced herself weren't reciprocated to dreaming and yearning for a man that could never be hers?

-x-

Of course, Father Stabler would send him here, to where it all had ended and began for him.

He bends down and brushes the dirt from the grave stone, tracing the letters; the names of his wife, daughter, and son.

 _Melody Margaret Grant (1966-1996)_

 _Karen Elizabeth Grant (1991-1996)_

 _Fitzgerald "Jerry" Thomas Grant IV (1993-1996)_

Soon as his fingertips reach his son's name, Fitz falls to his knees, the sobs tearing from his throat threaten to split him in two.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry for a long delay, loves. I recently had a family member I was rather close to pass away and things have been hectic for me.

Anyways, this is a longer chapter, as suggested, and I hope you enjoy. I'd originally planned for this story to be five chapters, but it's taking on a life of it's own in my head so lets see where it goes. I usually have someone else edit my chapters, but they're currently busy at the moment, so all mistakes are my own.

Some questions will be answered, some more questions will be formed.

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

"You went to their graves," Father Stabler comments, motioning for Fitz to enter his office.

Fitz nods, the tightness in his chest acute ever since he'd walked away from the hollow ground that held the life he'd lost.

"I did." Tears pool in the corners of his slate eyes. "It was the first time in … a while." Another confession, he's just full of them these days.

"And why'd you stop?" prompts Father Stabler, attention now solely on Fitz.

Why'd he stop? He ponders the question, fingers absent-mindedly toying with the skin of his ring finger where a gold band should rest. He never meant to stop, ever, and in all truth, he isn't sure why he did either. The pain hadn't lessened, and he hadn't learned to deal with it. It just became less of somewhere he felt he had the right to be. Their deaths would always be his albatross. His cross to carry.

"Fitz," Father Stabler sighed. "You don't blame yourself still, do you?"

Fitz doesn't look up, he can't meet Father Stabler's eyes because Father Stabler's hit the proverbial nail on the head. Ten years and he still runs through that night in his mind, over and over again. If he closes his eyes tight enough, he can hear the screeching tires, the frightened cries of his wife and children.

' _Daddy!'_

' _Fitz!'_

Then nothing but mangled metal and coldness. So much cold. The snow, their skin. The frozen blood bright red against the white snow.

"I was the one driving." he tries to keep his voice level, emotionless, but his words wavier, belying the indifference he attempts to project.

"It was a freak snow storm, Fitzgerald, you can't blame yourself."

"I should've known. I should've known better than to drive home. It wasn't heavy when we left though. And then all of a sudden…" his head is in his hands, his elbows on his knees. "Why didn't I go with them? Why was I spared me?"

Anger shakes his voice, the timber dropping. For the last ten years now, he's wondered this exact thing. Why did he live, why was he living when his children, his wife, with her crystal blue eyes and high apple cheeks, were gone. What did he have to give to the world that they didn't? Why had God kept him here? Why.

"Because God needed you here. You weren't done yet." Stabler offers, but his answer doesn't suffice.

"Bullshit." Fitz hisses, forgetting for a moment that he, too, wears the cloth as the man in in front of him. "You're telling me a four-year-old and a two-year-old were done here? You're telling me that my wife, who probably would've been the first female president of this country with a mind like hers, was done? You're…"

He stops. The sobs overtake his large frame and he can't stop crying. Ten years and the pain is still as fresh as the day he was undone.

The sound of metal scraping against wood fills the room. A large hand comes to rest on Fitz's shoulder and he looks up from his crying to see Father Stabler standing next to him, offering him some comfort "The day I talked you off the bridge, Fitzgerald, what did I say to you?"

Fitz sucks in a bout of air, his lungs expanded. Another day he'll remember for the rest of his life. Not too long after he'd lost the life he'd fought to build, he'd found himself sitting on the ledge of the Arlington Memorial Bridge. Not an extremely high bridge, Fitz hoped that the icy chill of the water on a cold February day would pull him under, paralyze his survival instincts and take him away. Across the bridge had been one of the last places he'd taken his family. He wanted his children, his babies, to see the D.C lights at night, to gaze at the beauty that is a city in progress.

But fate, luck, or divine intervention – whatever one chose to believe in – had made her presence known. Just as Fitz fought to throw himself over the side, he'd heard screech of tires, the slam of a car door, a plea from a man dressed in black with a white collar around his neck.

Father Stabler.

"You told me that it was your duty to save my life and once you did, it would be my job, in turn, to save someone else's." Fitz whispers. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek and shakes his head. He never thought he deserved that second chance, and in truth doesn't know what made him pull away from the ledge of the bridge he'd been so hell-bent on toppling over.

Father Stabler had pulled him back that day, both mentally and physically.

" _Why can't you just let me go?"_

" _Because it's not your time, Fitzgerald. Because it is my duty. To you, to God."_

" _My children, my wife…"_

" _Do not let them die in vain, use their memory. Use this pain to go forth."_

" _How?"_

" _Save someone who needs to be saved. It is your duty."_

Funny how that solitary moment, slumped in a ball in another man's arms as ambulance sirens whirled around you and tires screeched, he'd decided to save someone. He'd decided to dedicate his life to saving anyone he could in the only way that seemed concrete enough: by taking up the priesthood.

Father Stabler had tried to explain to a determined Fitz that there were other ways to save someone than by taking up the cloth, but Fitz had insisted this was the way – his way. People needed to know they could come to him to be saved.

Ten years later, and Fitz feels as if he's failed, he's allowed something – someone – to get in between him and his purpose. _Her._ Olivia. The unwitting hurricane. She doesn't know it, but he can't breathe around her; she consumes all his thoughts whenever she was near. Like a moth to a flame, he's drawn to the young women with high cheek bones, deep brown skin, and large black eyes. Every inch of her petite frame cries 'shelter me' but her sharp tongue and straightened back bone say, 'I dare you to try.'

And he feels guilty. Guilty for wanting to try, guilty for letting her get in his way as if he could've stopped her. Sometimes he feels as if he was destined to meet Olivia Pope regardless of the circumstances. Had he been the President of the United States and she a member of his staff, he still would've ended up here, enchanted by her mere presence, and searching for any reason to be around her.

"Fitzgerald," Father Stabler's gruff voice calls.

Fitz tilts his head up. Deep breath in, deep breath out, he attempts to gather himself.

"You're thinking of her again, of Olivia?" he asks.

Fitz nods, wondering how his mind jumped from the loss of his family to the woman that seemed to occupy ever thought he has now.

"Why?"

It's a simple question, but the answer is complex.

"Because," he starts, "she's in the way. She's stopping me. I can't save someone, I can't help someone, I can't pay penance if I'm thinking of her constantly."

Stabler squeezes his shoulder again, a soft smile on the man's face. "Is she in the way, though?"

"Is she?" Fitz repeats, brows knitting together on his forehead. What does that mean? Of course she is! If he can't see around her to those that need to be saved, how is he to save anyone?

"What if she is the way?" Father Stabler suggests.

"Huh?"

"What if you're supposed to save her?"

Fitz tilts his head, a wry smile on his lips. "You don't understand, Elliot." He's addressing the other man as a friend now, not as a priest. "She's in the way because I _want_ her in ways that a man wants a woman."

Much to Fitz's surprise, Father Stabler chuckles. The priest laughs, his hand dropping from Fitz's shoulder as he settles against the wood desk, a smirk on his face, as he shakes his head.

"I know. I can see it in your face when you discuss her, but I can also see the admiration, fascination, and affection you have for her, too. You're human, my friend, it's understandable. What's also understandable, is a man being able to dedicate his life to God and to another."

"What?" The confusion is evident. This isn't what he expects to hear

"Why did you become a priest?" Father Stabler asks.

Again, another simple question with a complex answer. This time Fitz chooses simplicity in his response rather than to attempt to explain the mess of emotions fluttering around his chest and in his head.

"To save someone, like you saved me."

"And why else?"

Of course, the simple never suffices.

"There isn't any other reason." Fitz lies.

"We both know, and more importantly, The Father above knows that, that isn't true. You did it because you were afraid of picking up the pieces to start over again. And that was fine. But it's not any more. Second chances are being given." Father Stabler all but calls bullshit as he reads Fitz, his response discomforting to the other man.

"Or third, or fourth…" counters Fitz; he counts his second chance as the moment he fell back onto solid ground and not ice water.

"No, second. You're still on your second and it's a decade in the making. Look, Fitz, I say this as a friend and as a vessel for God, look at your life right now. Examine it with an architect's eye and remember that everyone is worthy of a second chance and that sometimes, our purpose is right in front of us; we're just too stubborn to see it."

"I don't understand."

"God already knows what you're going to do; he's already forgiven you for mistakes you've made and those you will make. It's just a matter of you figuring out where to go next. What life do you want to live? Is this right here the best way to serve God?"

"I don't know."

"The good thing is, you have time to figure it out."

/

"That's it!" Sally Langston shouts as she stands behind the desk that belongs to Fitz. During Fitz's absence, she's taken to operating out of his personal space.

Olivia sits in the seat across from her, trying to maintain her professionalism as the short, plump woman berates her loud enough for the entire school to hear.

They year is rounding down, just a little over a month to go now. Fitz's has been gone since the beginning of March on a health leave. Olivia still doesn't know where he is or if he'll return. One thing she knows for certain is that she will most certainly be in search of another job once the summer hits officially.

"Father Fitzgerald may have put up with your liberal insolence, but I am not Father Fitzgerald."

"Really, I hadn't noticed." Olivia retorts childishly, unable to stop the venom curling in the pit of her stomach, ready to pour out. She's done, she's had enough of this school, of Sister Sally, of everything.

"You cannot teach that, that filth in this class as some form of -"

"Fact, Sister Sally? Fact. History. Evidence. Roe v. Wade is a landmark decision that coincides with the sexual revolution and bodily autonomy. I told Father Fitzgerald when I came to this unit, this portion of the 60s, I would treat it as I saw it as a historian, as a woman of color. I gave him my lesson plans; he read them! Now I'm being castigated. Again. What is wrong with you people?" she seethes; impassioned, she gets to her feet.

"I've shown both pro-birth and pro-choice arguments. I've put the research out there for the young adults to read. I cannot help it if their parents would rather them be blind or ignorant to the ways of the world! Education is not the place to be coddled. I refuse to lie to these kids, and if I am asked my opinions, I will voice them. These are all things that were discussed in my interview for this job!"

"No." Sally shouts, firmly. "No. You discussed these plans with Father Fitzgerald. I am not him. I would've told you no. We teach the right to life in this school, under this God. This is not an open conversation. After what you got away with, with Lizette, I ask myself consistently why you still have a job, why you're still here. I know the answer to that. You're a young woman, a pretty face, and even a man of the cloth can be weak to temptation."

"I beg your pardon, I don't know what you're insinuating about me, but I know that you are wrong. You are –"

"No, Miss Pope. You are. I don't care if we've a month left. You are fired. FIRED!" Sally punctuates her sentence with a slam of her plump fist against the wood of the desk that does not belong to her. "Collect your things and leave immediately. Sister Mary Agatha will finish for you this year. Get. Out."

The shock washes across Olivia like a tidal wave. She knew her days here were numbered, but didn't think she'd be kicked from her job before she got the chance to leave on her own. This place had never been a good fit for her, but that doesn't mean she isn't attached. She thinks of her older students, the ones she's fallen in love with, the ones who so desperately needed a John Keating to let them know there's more to this life than what's in front of them. She thinks of her younger kids, their chunky face and soft eyes. And she thinks of him. Of Fitz and how he's taken to the hills to escape her.

Maybe this is for the better, being dismissed like this?

"I'll leave now." Olivia's voice is tight as she turns to walk out of the office. Her hand flexes towards the doorknob but the door swings open before she has a chance to grasp the brass handle.

Her eyes widen at the sight in front of her.

 _Fitz._

"No, you won't." his baritone voice fills the room and Olivia lets out a puff of breath, an inadvertent 'huh?'

"This isn't Sister Langston's decision, it is mine. Go back to your students, Miss Pope." Fitz instructs as his eyes meet hers. So many emotions swirl within Oliva as she searches his face. Uncertainty. Bemusement. Confusion. Gratitude. Want. _Comfort._

"What?" her soft voice sounds.

"Go back to your classroom, to your students. Go. I will handle this."

Olivia nods, her eyes glimpsing her watch to see just how much of her day she has left (three hours). As she tears out of the office, a few passing by clerical workers eye her as she goes. St. Agnes again watches from the hall as she moves.

/

Fitz is the only thing on her mind the rest of the day. Unfortunately, she doesn't see him the rest of the day. She can't find the time away from her students and after school, he's nowhere to be found.

Now as the metro tugs across the tracks, stopping to allot her to depart, and she makes her way to her apartment, she can't help but to wonder where he's went, again. Their encounter had been so brief and fleeting that she hadn't had the proper time to study him and right now, she's not certain whether he'd really been there. Had Fitz just been a figment of her imagination? A mirage her mind had conjured up to soften the blow of being fired mid-day?

Her building comes into her sightline and mentally she beings to prepare for the climb up the stairs to her apartment. She stops to drop a couple of quarters in the cup of a homeless man who sits on the corner, watching her and informs him that she'll be bringing him dinner in just a few; she hopes he doesn't mind Chinese. He shakes his head nope and thanks her as she goes.

Moments later she's in her apartment, peeling back the layers of the day, now dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, her long braids pulled into a lose ponytail. She holds a Chinese menu in her left hand and her cellphone in the other, preparing to dial the restaurant when a knock on her door gives her pause.

Softly, she pads over to the wood door and peeks through the peephole.

She can't undo the chain and bolt quick enough. She throws her door open and once again, shock cascades over her petite frame.

 _Fitz._

He's _here._

At her apartment. In Astoria.

 _Why?_

"Hi." he offers awkwardly as the door swings open, the meekness of his voice is paired with a lopsided smile.

"Hi," is the only way Olivia knows how to respond.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** There's some light, some dark, and a bit of laughs I had to add after all the heavy.

Thanks to Trininadz, DaPrinces&Me for their support and my prima for always encouraging my mess.

Thanks to everyone else that reads and reviews, too!

All mistakes are my own.

Hope you enjoy.

-M

* * *

 _Hi._

 _Hi._

"What are you – you're. Hi."

Fitz watches as Olivia stumbles over her words, unable to stop the smile that tugs at his cheeks. This is the first time he's seen her in three months minus the thirty seconds in his office hours ago. She's still as beautiful as ever. Her deep brown doe eyes, those high cheeks, and full lips have haunted his dreams for weeks.

His fingers twitch at his sides anxiously, wanting nothing more than to reach out and run a finger along her jawline, tilt her chin up, and kiss her.

But that's not what he's come to do.

Oh God, what did he come here to do again?

Suddenly he's a ball of nerves. He sticks his hands in his pockets, the confident man from moments ago disappearing under this young woman's curious gaze. Why does she affect him this way?

"Hi." He offers again, this time chuckling at the absurdity of his own response. "I – uh –."

"You're at my apartment. In Anacostia." Olivia supplies and Fitz nods.

 _Come on, get it together man._

"I am." Well, technically he's in the hallway that leads to her apartment. A fact he's reminded of as the door down the hall swings creaks open and he watched a kid, no more than ten, carry a ball towards the steps.

Fitz smiles at the child, before turning his attention back to Olivia.

"Can I, can I come in?"

"Oh, right, of course!" Olivia steps aside and usher's him in.

In the light of her apartment, he's able to see her more clearly. She almost looks like a china doll dressed in a shirt that threatens to swallow her whole and shorts that barely peek out from beneath its hem. Her long braids are pulled back away from her face, free of all makeup, and she's barefoot. He's never seen a sight so pure before, so indicative of comfort and home.

The apartment is much smaller than he'd imagined and everything is either decorated in various muted shades of gold, sky blue, or creamy white minus the television nestled into an entertainment center across from the cream-colored sofa peppered with blue throw pillows. Fresh flowers sit in a vase on the glass coffee table. There's a set of shelves stacked to the hilt with books of various titles off to the left, near her front door; and across from those rests two windows separated by a thin strip of wall that holds an antique clock.

What surprises him most, however, about her apartment, isn't the soft décor or the size, it's the record player, tucked into a corner with a stack of vinyls hidden next to it. He almost feels like asking her what she knows about records. She is the cassette and CD generation, but stops himself as his eyes come to settle on her once more – the most beautiful aspect of the room.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asks, already moving towards the kitchen that cuts the open floor space in half. "I have water, juice, soda, and wine, but unless it's the blood of Christ, you probably don't drink that?"

Fitz chuckles at her joke, "just water. Thanks."

He can't keep his eyes to himself. He watches as she stretches to reach a glass in the cupboard, the muscles in her calves stretching, the fabric of her shorts inching upwards, the long hem of her t-shirt…

 _Get a grip, man._

Fitz shakes his head and closes the steps to the breakfast bar and the stool that are pulled up to the counter top. Olivia busies herself with fetching his water when he catches sight of a photo on her refrigerator that rests right next to the school's yearly schedule.

It's a picture.

One he doesn't remember taking, yet that's him in it, clear as day.

Olivia must catch his eyes, too, because she scurries over to the fridge, and moves to take it down.

"I, uh, the yearbook committee gave it to me. I didn't know what else to do with it."

"It's nice, you look nice in it. Can say much about the old guy with you."

She laughs and unless Fitzgerald Grant III's eyes have failed him, there's a muted redness swelling in her cheeks as she lets go of the photo and leaves it in his place.

"Think you could make me a copy?" he asks, she nods, and she sets his water down in front of him.

A beat passes.

"You're in my apartment." Olivia states the obvious again and Fitz chuckles.

"I am."

"In Astoria." She adds as if they hadn't already had this conversation; it's Fitz's turn to nod, slightly confused.

She catches his confusion and continues, explaining. "It's just, not many people come to this section of town unless they have to, it's too. . . _urban_ for them. Or wait, did you have to come here? Am I being fired – _again_? You really could've just called in that instance." Her shoulders slump forward.

Does she always let her thoughts spin out like this?

"I'm not, I'm not firing you, Olivia. You're not fired. Sal – Sister Langston had no right to fire you. It was not her place. I'm here to apologise for her rash decision and let you know that she and her more archaic views, won't be an issue for you again. I've contacted the diocese and she's going to be moved to somewhere she feels more comfortable."

Olivia's eyes widen and the shock on her face is glaring.

"You didn't have to tear your school apart for me, Father Fitzgerald."

"Fitz, Olivia, Fitz. And I didn't. To be truthful and un-God-like for the moment, Sally Langston has been a thorn in my side since I took this job a little bit over six years ago. Before you were the bleeding-heart liberal, it was me. She's never liked me."

"Fitz…I don't know what to say."

He stares at her and smiles, she looks truly stunned that she decided to do something of this caliber. Truthfully, removing Sally from her position had been something he's wanted to do forever now so it hadn't entirely been about Olivia. Though, in all honesty, she had been a driving factor in his decision. Walking into the school earlier that afternoon and finding Olivia in the situation, someone daring to raise their voice at her, had sent off a visceral feeling within him like no other. Fitz suspected that Olivia could hold her own without hesitation, but that hadn't stopped him from wanting to shield her from anything; be it the elements, Sally Langston, etc. It didn't matter.

He's been struggling with his feelings regarding her on all sides and this afternoon had only added another dimension to his struggles. It is clear what he must do. Father Stabler had been right.

Fitz swallows, wiping his sweaty palms on his black slacks. He can do this. He can. It'll be complicated and messy, quite possibly a hurricane, but if he doesn't do it, he'll never forgive himself.

He deserves a second chance. He's punished himself for far too long.

"Say you'll go out with me?"

/

 _Say you'll go out with me?_

Olivia's brows furrow and she tilts her head to the side. There's no way she just heard him right.

Go out? With him? A _priest_?

"What?"

Fitz fidgets on the stool and Olivia leans against the counter. She's a mix of emotions right now. Elated that he's here, but confused by his absence; annoyed by his nonchalance, but smitten with his charm.

What was Fitzgerald Grant doing to her?

"Say you'll go out with me. That's what you can say. Now, I must admit, I've been out of the dating area for a while. A long while, but I'm sure I can still cut a rug."

"Cut a rug? Wow." She teases, it's easier to put her attention on his word choice rather than what he's saying.

"What, come on?"

Come on? Does he know what he's asking of her?

"Fitz, you're a priest. We…you ran away for three months – from me – after we almost - and now you're asking me out? I'm going to have whiplash if you keep going back and forth with me like this." She spills out, needing desperately to understand what he's trying to get at; what he's trying to accomplish by asking her out, by being in her apartment, by being near.

Does he not understand what his presence does to her?

Fitz sighs, working a hand along his jaw. Olivia watches as his face contorts into a mix of what appears to be pain and contemplation; his eyes grow cloudy, as if he's in another time or place, then he clears his throat, a somber smile passing across his face.

Olivia stares at him, confusion muddling her features. The only thought coming to mind is that it's been a day. A long day.

"I owe you an explanation. So, before you agree or disagree to go out with me, let me explain. I did run away from you. And not because I'm a priest. Well, it is because I'm a priest, but it's far more complex than that, Olivia." He leans forward on his elbows. "Ten years ago, I lost my wife and children to a car accident."

A gasp escapes Olivia's lips and she holds a hand to her chest. She didn't know. Being the school pariah had left little time for common gossip to reach her ears and the little research she had done regarding her new boss had only consisted of his academic and professional accomplishments.

"We were coming back into D.C from Arlington when a whiteout hit, I was driving." He stops for a moment to compose himself. "I lost everything that day. My entire life. My little girl, my boy, and my wife. And I tried my damndest to catch up to them. To meet them on the other side. I drank – a lot – and when that didn't work, I tried to throw myself over a bridge."

Again, Olivia gasps, she can't help her body's natural reaction to grab his hands that rest on the countertop, clasped tightly together. She wants to hug him, to hold him and wipe the tears away that she can see pooling behind his slate eyes. Any words she can offer up to him seem so empty, so insignificant right now so she holds his hand.

She's surprised when he laces his fingers in hers, squeezing.

She can't imagine this man, this pillar of strength broken beyond repair. Broken like she'd been when -

"But Father Stabler saved me. He wouldn't let me do it. Hell, he even promised to come in after me if I did do it. He pulled me off the ledge and held onto me. He grounded me, pulled me out of my grief and helped me get to where I am right now. I joined the priesthood because of him. And lucky enough for me, he found a place for me at the Saint Gabriel's. I was high school teacher before. My wife had been a lawyer…"

He grips Olivia's hand tighter at the mention of his wife and Olivia lets him.

"For a while there I thought I was doing what Father Stabler had asked of me, to pay penance for letting my family die."

"Fitz, you didn't." Olivia interrupts abruptly. She wasn't there, but she knew better than that. The man in front of her was good, pure, and honest. She can't believe he's blamed himself all these years. A whiteout, a car accident, all things that had been out of his control. Hell, when snow hit, Olivia barely left her apartment.

"I know, it took me a while to know that, Liv. And I punished myself in the process. I closed myself off. To everything and everyone but the school. But then you showed up…."

She looks up to find him staring intensely at her.

"And you demanded my presence. You wouldn't let me close myself off. Your small talk, your knowledge, grace, beauty… you had my attention. All of it. It felt right. And I felt guilty for how right it felt to be near you, with you, enjoying your time. I wanted you to find reasons to come to me, and if you couldn't or didn't, I found them to come to you. And that day in my office…I ran. I ran and once again found myself on a ledge. This time proverbial.

What I'm trying to say, Olivia Pope, is that I'm a man who's been given a second chance. I think you could very well be my second chance and I don't want to throw it away. Will you go out with me?"

It's a lot to take in, all of it. His words, the confirmation that her romantic thoughts were shared, they were reciprocated and affirmed. But there was so much else to sort through. His trauma and pain, his career choice, the fact that he's her boss. The fact that she has her own issues that might make whatever this thing between them that seemed to bloom overnight, difficult.

Her mouth is letting off excuses as to why she couldn't possibly go out with him before she even has a chance to think it through. She lets go of his hands and begins to pace the length of the short kitchen.

"You're a priest; you're my boss; I'm too young for you; I'm not exactly the right hue. What will people say? What about work, what…"

"Olivia, stop." Fitz chides and he's suddenly in front of her, standing her, barely inches away from her. When did he get so close? "Please. Just for one minute stand here and tell me what you want. Ignore everything, but us right now. Don't think about it. Just for a minute, stand here and tell me what _you_ want."

What she wants?

She isn't used to that question. No one asks her that much anymore. It's always been inconsequential in the scheme of things, irrelevant to the scope. With her father, with Jake. She's been trying to stand on her own two feet for ages now and that question is still foreign to her. What does she want? She wants…

Olivia nods, swallowing hard. She stops thinking of all the reasons this is wrong and won't work and all she can see is him. All she can see is his lopsided smile, all she can feel is the way his fingers felt warm and safe tucked between her own mere minutes ago.

What does she want?

 _Him._

The logistics can be figured out later, but right now, it's him.

"Okay."

/

 _Okay._

"Okay?" Fitz repeats, elated to find Olivia smiling softly and nodding.

He can't help it. He finds himself lifting her into his arms and spinning her in the almost non-existent space between the countertop and her appliances. She's just made him the happiest man on earth in that moment. And she feels so right tucked tightly in her arms.

And is she laughing?

She is! So, he laughs too and they stay there for a moment before he stops. His eyes land on her soft lips and Fitz feels his body responding to hers. Her mouth is merely a stretch away, her soft curves are pliable beneath his fingertips that are pressed into her back.

He lets go of her and steps back, the heat creeping across his cheeks. Olivia seems just as flustered and she giggles slightly, shrugging.

They're going to have to strike a balance and he's going to have to find a way to make his body agree to it. She's right, he's still a priest, and they are going to do this. He won't let her back out on him and he promises himself that he will not to back out on her, but there will have to be lines drawn. After all, he isn't the first priest to date.

"Would you?" Olivia's voice sounds through the haze of his own thoughts and Fitz finds that she's positioned herself as far from him as possible, in the tiny space of her kitchenette.

"What?" he asks.

"I'm ordering Chinese, would you like something? My treat." She asks him.

Fitz shakes his head, his eyes glancing down at the simple black watch that adorns his left wrist. "I should probably get going."

"You save my job, bare your soul to me, ask me out, and now you won't break bread with me?" there's a tone of mock offence to her voice and Fitz rolls his eyes.

This woman has a way with words. She just might be the end of him.

"If you let me pay."

"I thought priests were pious and penurious." She quips and Fitz watched her thin fingers move across the buttons of her phone.

"Some of us have been blessed far beyond expectation and enjoy sharing those gifts." He informed her, his mind immediately going to the small(ish) fortune he'd inherited from his father ages ago that he'd used sparingly the last few years, choosing instead to live on the wages he'd made at work unless the children of the school needed supplies.

"Well, I'm eating for two." Olivia informs him.

Fitz's eyes go wide. She's what? Is she…he knew she had a boyfriend and that three months with child didn't change the body much, but that's something she should've told him before… before…

"Myself and Huck." Olivia gestures towards her window. "He's my friend. You might've passed him on your way up. The scruffy looking homeless guy on the street corner? I buy or bring him breakfast and dinner every day. Is that okay?" she asks.

The panic in Fitz subsides and the admiration dancing on his face grows. How fitting of her to have the last name Pope when he almost wants to swear that she's a real-life saint. Feeding a homeless man, taking pity on an old man (him)?

"That's fine. That's more than fine."

"What do you want?" she asks as a static hello sounds from her phone and she begins to rattle off an order.

"Whatever you recommend."

Olivia shakes her head and rattles off another order, one he doesn't hear because he's too busy staring at the amazing woman in front of her.

He wants to know everything about her. He needs to know it all.

What makes her laugh, what makes her cry? Why she teaches? Why she seems to share his attraction when she could fare far better than an old man like himself.

/

"Olivia, let me take a bag."

They'd started bickering three or so streets back and it only grows worse as they approach her building. Fitz reaches for the plastic bags digging into the skin of her wrist again and Olivia pulls back.

"I told you, it's okay. I can do it. You paid, I'll carry."

The eye roll that careens across his face is unmistakable, it causes Olivia to chuckle. She gives him a roll of her own eyes and pushes forward.

"You're even more stubborn outside of the school, you know that." He retorts.

Olivia turns to make her own biting response when Fitz snatches one of the plastic bags from her and begins to jog down the street towards her apartment with it.

"Give that back!" She shouts, laughing at the absurdness of this entire situation. She's chasing a priest down the street to get back her Chinese takeout. A _priest_.

 _Her_ priest.

"Fi-"

Olivia's words hang in midair as the scene before her unfolds.

Chinese food spills from cartons out onto the grey concrete.

Huck rises to his feet. In a flash of limbs and yelps, he has Fitz face down on the ground, a knee in the man's back, and one hand forcing Fitz's face into the concrete, the other hand holding both Fitz's hands.

"You don't touch her!" Huck shouts.

"HUCK, STOP!" Olivia shouts as she catches up to the scene. A few people have gathered around and a few more poke their heads out of the apartment building above.

Huck doesn't relent and from the looks of it, Fitz will be sporting a concrete-caused scrape across her cheek tomorrow.

"Please, Huck…" Olivia calls again, setting what's left of their food down on the concrete and moving towards him slowly, both hands up so he can see them. "He wasn't hurting me. He wasn't. He's a friend. He's my friend. His name is Fitz." She says in a soft voice, watching with a heavy heart as the glassiness in Huck's eyes slowly subsides. Olivia nods as he lets a confounded Fitz up, who now has a blood dripping down his cheek.

"You okay?" Olivia asks, rushing to his side. "I'm so sorry. He's protective…"

Fitz shakes it off, giving her a lopsided smile and rubbing his wrists.

"Army or marines?" Fitz asks Huck, stretching out his arms. "And it's okay, Liv, I can take a hit."

Olivia rolls her eyes again, even a priest must be a macho man.

"He didn't hit you, he smashed you off the concrete. Huck, what were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry, Liv. I – he took your bag and I heard you scream. I thought he was hurting you. I won't let anyone hurt you."

She wants to yell at Huck, but can't bring herself to do so. He's been through a lot and Olivia figures she doesn't even know the half of it. A serviceman who went to war for his country only to have his country abandon him in the end?

"It's okay, Huck. It's just…dinner's now…well, everywhere." She gestures to the bits of food scattered across the ground. Most of it looks to have been hers, though, so that's a bright spot in this mess. She'd rather Huck eat and she'll find something later.

She picks up the surviving bag and hands it to Huck as she goes about scraping up what mess of the mess she can. Tossing the remnants of Almond Chicken and Szechuan Beef into a nearby garbage can, Olivia looks at Fitz again. The blood on his cheek has started to darken.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." Olivia gestures towards her building. "And you, eat." She tells Huck.

"Marines." Huck responds and her brows knit together. She didn't ask….

"Former Navy man." Fitz sounds from behind her. Olivia watches as Fitz extends his hand, but Huck doesn't take it. He just stares at the other man from beneath his overly bushy eyebrows and beard.

"If you hurt her, I will kill you. I have nothing to lose."

"Huck!"

"I'd expect nothing less."

"Fitz!" She sighs, done with these two for the moment. She shoves Fitz in the direction of her building, and he's smiling. For the thousandth time in the span of ten minutes, she rolls her eyes. "You're awful."

"I like him. I like knowing you're protected."

"Just go." She jerks her head towards her building and pushes him in, knowing full well Huck is still watching them. "We're going to have to order pizza or something now."

"Two dinners in one night? Are you after me for my money and not just my Godly connection?"

Olivia shoves him, trying to stop the smile that threatens to spill over her face.

This man is incorrigible.

This man is a priest.

And she might be falling head over heels for him. _Yuck._

"By the way, Liv, this is not our first date."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Okay, y'all, life got in the way big time the last month plus. Work might slowly kill me, it's cool. 12hr days are no biggie. Anyways, this is my apology, peace offering, and reminder that I'm still out here. I'm not going anywhere. This chapter is on the shorter side because a) wanted to get something up for y'all b) It felt right to cut here.

Good news though is that this was originally part of a longer chapter, which hopefully means I'll have the next chapter up soon (I can't give you an exact time table because we're in meltdown mode at my law firm).

So please enjoy this nice little interim chapter in the meantime.

Hopefully I'll be back soon.

-M

* * *

The third time's a charm, or so Olivia hopes as she stands in front of her full-length mirror taking in her reflection. She's wearing a simple cotton summer dress that fits snug at the top, held up by thin straps, and flared at the waist. It'd originally been her very first choice in attire, but as her bedroom floor could attest to, not the only one. Various articles of clothing from jean shorts to tank tops are spread from one side of the room to the next.

Every nerve ending in her body tingles with anxious energy. In her twenty-four years of life, she can't ever recall being _this_ nervous over a date.

And she can't pinpoint the exact reason as to why anxious energy hums throughout her body. Is it the priest thing or is it something more?

The same something more she sees in his eyes when she catches him staring at her – the same something she feels when they're standing next to one another, their shoulders brushing together.

Or is it the fact that he's a priest - a man of the cloth - and she doesn't exactly fancy herself as an iconoclast.

Either way, she can say without a doubt, that Fitzgerald Grant does something to her. His mere presence simultaneously throws her off balance and into perfect orbit. He's a current she can't quite find the strength to swim against.

If there is a God, may she be forgiven.

Olivia's fingers twitch as she smooths over her dress and she drags her eyes up to meet their reflection in the mirror. She briefly wonders if her attire is too short (it cuts just above her knees) or too low-cut (she's barely showing any cleavage), but opts not to drag even more clothes out of her closet.

Fitz had told her to dress summer casual and a white cotton dress is the epitome of just that.

 _You look fine. You look good_. Olivia reassures herself, smiling at her reflection. Butterflies flap erratically in her stomach and she can't remember the last time she's been this level of excited and nervous over a date. Has she ever been? Her dating history, if one could call it that, is abysmal in all sense of the word.

She's bedded more than her fair share of men in an attempt to do away with the loneliness in her heart, and has always come back lonelier than the time before. Could – would Fitz be different?

She's allotted little time to ruminate on the question when a knock on her door shakes her from her reverie. Her eyes glance down at the gold watch on her left wrist and the smile that tugs at her cheeks is imminent.

Fitz.

Bare feet carry her to her front door as she slides on a pair of strappy sandals sitting by her door and fixes the gold pendant around her neck.

Another knock and she laughs to herself at his impatience.

"Coming!" Olivia calls, reaching up to look out the peep hole. Her breath catches in her throat at the site of him. He's simultaneously dressed down and up. His golden blonde curls she's had fantasies of tugging on are expertly combed back, he wears tan khakis and a white unbuttoned polo. They match.

She drinks him in, forgetting that she's supposed to be opening the door. He raises his fist to knock again, jogging Olivia out of her thoughts.

Knock!

Knock!

"Liv?"

Right, they have a date. She can't just stare at him unabashedly through a peephole all day.

The grin on her face only widens as she swings her door open.

"Hi." She breathes.

"Hi." Fitz responds.

/

This is his first date in nearly twenty years and his nerves are starting to get the better of him. The longer he waits for her to answer her door, the less he seems confident that he can go through with this. She's so young and vivacious, so full of life and what he suspects is love, and he's an old man. A man past his prime.

Olivia Pope can do better than him.

Olivia Pope should do better than him.

Olivia Pope is a vision.

The door opens and the smile is instantaneous and so is his greeting. One syllable never sounded so sweet before and white never looked so pure.

Minimalistic, simple, and stunning; those are the only words that come to mind as his eyes rake over her. The dress is snug in all the right spots and lose in all the others. Her braids are pulled back away from her face, but still hang down her back, and she wears little to no makeup.

Fitz has the strong urge to greet her with a kiss, pull her into his arms and never let go, but somehow, he finds the restraint. He's pleasantly surprised when she presses a kiss to his cheek, angling upwards on her tippy toes and he realizes just how tiny she is.

"Y-y-you look stunning." Fitz fumbles; he wonders if this is what love at first sight feels like. If his quickened pulse and hitched breath, the thumping of his heart and the sudden thirst in this throat is love at first sight. He doesn't know if he can take his eyes off her right now.

"Thanks. You look pretty good yourself."

Fitz grins, sticks his hands in his pockets, and ducks his head low so she can't see the redness creep up throat. If only she knew how long it'd taken him to get dress this evening.

"You ready?"

"Yeah, let me just grab a sweater and my purse." She disappears into the apartment for a few minutes before reappearing, a pastel blue sweater draped over her shoulders, and a purse resting at her side. Tan, blue, and white, he's starting to think this is her color scheme.

"Where are we going?" Olivia asks, excitement in her tone.

Again, Fitz's nerves ratchet up; now he's worried about meeting her expectations.

"Uhm, well, we're going to eat first and then after that, it's an adventure."

"Can I at least know where we're going to eat?"

"Yes, when we get there."

Olivia rolls her eyes, shaking her head as they head towards the stairs. "Well, at least tell me what route we'll be taking to get there."

"You must've not been any fun on road trips as a kid." He quips, her eagerness both endearing and just a tad annoying. She's a lifelong D.C girl, as soon as she gets on the train, he suspects she'll know exactly where they're going anyways, so he wants her to wait out the surprise.

"I've never been on one, actually." Olivia confesses as they emerge from her building.

The DC sun is high, the air warm. Thankfully the temperature is comfortable and not stifling. Fitz's brows furrow. How is that possible? Road trips are as American as apple pie. But before he can ask why she's never been strapped into a moving vehicle with annoying siblings or relatives, Huck approaches them. The man looks as uneasy, his fingers twitch at his side and he's scowling beneath his bushy brows.

Muscle memory leaves Fitz rubbing his jaw, a faint scrape mark still resting on his cheek. It'd taken him by surprise, the strength that the man in front of him had. Although he was stocky, Fitz had at least four or five inches on him; yet if they were ever in a dark alley together, Fitz doubts that he would be the one to come out on top.

"Liv." Huck calls and Fitz takes that as his cue to let them be. Nodding, he walks a few steps ahead, but keeps his eyes trained on the two.

He watches as Huck makes a few subtle gestures and Olivia bobs in agreement; a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes doesn't leave her face the entire time. Huck takes one of Liv's hands and her eyes widen, she shakes her head no, but the bushy man only closes her fingers into her palm. Fitz eyes the exchange, curiosity blooming in his belly. Leave it to this woman to inspire protectiveness in a man that looks a bit like a rabid dog. Whatever Huck's given her, she slips into her purse with a dramatic eye roll and then pats his shoulder reassuringly.

The entire exchange simultaneous makes him smile and leaves an ache in the pit of his stomach; it reminds him of an overprotective father and blossoming daughter. It makes him wonder briefly what it would've been like to have these moments with his own baby girl. He shudders those thoughts away, instead focusing on the agitated look on Olivia's face.

God, she's adorable; the perfect combination of sexy and cute. He could stare at her for hours; trace the slope of her nose, kiss the corner of her jaw, and cuddle her close.

"Okay, Huck! I'll be fine!" Olivia's voice shakes him from his thoughts. Fitz glances up to see her cutting the distance between them, a scowl on her face.

He pushes off the building, glancing back at Huck who's eyeing him warily. "Everything good?"

"Yeah, we're fine." she assures and for the second time that day, catches him off guard by slipping her dainty hand back into his oversized palm. She all but drags him towards the Metro stop, never losing pace and he's amazed by how far her little legs can carry her.

Again a grin breaks out across his face.

"Huck's just protective, that's all."

"I think I picked up on that last time we met."

She chortles and Fitz laughs. "I still can't believe he threw you."

"He did not throw me."

Together they move through the busy D.C streets until they get to the Anacostia station. The station is unsurprisingly packed for a Saturday evening and the sounds of a train rumbling on its tracks and nosey kids flits through the air.

"He did."

"Where did you even find him at?" Fitz questions in a bid to change the subject.

"This station, actually." they part ways as they both take separate terminals to the platform, and then meet up on the other side. Again Olivia's hand slips right back into his; the gesture catches him less off guard this time around. Fitz thinks of how he could get used to this. For some reason he'd expected her to be less open with her affection, but she's turning out to surprise him in more ways than one.

"He used to sit in here with a cup and watch the clock," she jerks her chin to the digital clock up above them on the platform. "I always brought him coffee because he looked like he could use it."

Fitz chuckles. Coffee. Really? "Only you would bring a man that mean looking coffee."

"He doesn't look mean to me; sad, maybe, but not mean."

How could she even see see his eyes to determine sadness?

"So how'd he move from the train station to your stoop?"

Olivia's gaze drops to the stone platform and she lets Fitz's hand go. She fidgets, eyes glancing across the platform, and brings her arms around her middle.

"I was coming back from my dad's up in DuPont late one night and not really paying attention to my surrounding. Three guys jumped me, one had a knife. They took my purse and I'd rather not imagine what else they were going to do…."

It doesn't take a genius to know what she's alluding to, but Fitz refuses to let his thoughts go there. He didn't want to imagine that happening to anyone, let alone _her._ His eyes dart around the platform, glimpsing the buzzing traffic and he wonders just how late she'd been coming home. Anacostia seemed to be a bit of hubbub for foot traffic. Why'd she been alone on the platform? He wonders what it'd take to get her to agree to let him be her train buddy for any more late night rendezvous.

"But Huck came out of nowhere. He was terrifying. It was only him and these three men; not small men either, and it was like something snapped in him. He handle them with a brutality I don't think I've ever seen before. He threw my purse at me and yelled for me to run, so I did. I didn't stop until I was in my apartment. I called the cops, but the response rate around here…" she rolls her eyes.

"I didn't sleep that night and when I went to work the next morning, Huck was waiting for me. Not a scratch on him. Rode with me all the way to Foggy Bottom. Stayed there all day and then rode home with me, walked me to my building. Rinse, wash, repeat."

Fitz doesn't know what to quite say. He's humbled by Huck's selflessness.

"Now he waits for me most nights. If he's not on the platform, he's on the corner. I bring him dinner. In the winter I try to make him take my couch for a night or two, but he's stubborn. I expect nothing less from a marine. Two tours in Iraq in this ridiculous war. I don't know what happened to him while he was over there - he doesn't talk much - but I'm grateful for him." she sighs just as the train rolls in, screeching loudly as it comes to a halt. "This us?"

Fitz nods and motions for her to get on and he follows suit behind her. He wants to tell her how dangerous it is to have a man she doesn't know in her apartment; tell her that he'd only been joking when he'd called her a real life saint, and stress to beware of someone exhibiting PTSD but he doesn't. They've only shared a short amount of time together, but he can tell that she isn't someone who takes too lightly to being told what to do. Plus, Huck seems like a good man. A good man in need of a shower, but a good man nonetheless. From the sound of it, he's had more than his fair share of opportunities where he could've hurt Olivia, but hasn't.

They take a seat on the long benches.

"My ex - Jake -"

The name inspires a spout of jealousy in Fitz that surprises him. He remembers the kiss he'd interrupted on Christmas and wishes he could forget.

"Didn't like Huck. Didn't want him around me; said Huck would hurt me. The feelings were mutual. Huck _hated_ him." she laughs. "I can't turn my back on someone who could've died because of me. Besides, he needs help. I've finally started getting him to go to the VA, I can't leave him now."

Fitz shakes his head. She is a saint, a real life saint. "You're amazing."

"I'm not." Olivia insists, turning away.

The train jerks to a halt and one of her bare knees knocks against his. The deep brown of her skin gleams against the dull train light and he wonders what it'd be like to place a hand on her knee, and feel her soft flesh beneath his fingertips. He's starring. Again.

"Ahem." she turns to look at him, doe eyes bright, a knowing grin on her lips. "Is this us, and if it isn't, can I have a hint yet as to where we're going?"

"Nope, but after what you just told me, I think you're going to like it."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: As promised. Here's the update. The next chapter will be the last in their first date excursion. In this part, we learn a tad bit about Olivia.

For those of you following Sleep On the Floor, the next chapter is done, I'm just editing right now.

Oh, I'll definitely be changing my pen name soon, so if you see my stories updated, but not my name, no frets; I'm still here. Just needed a change.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

The train screeches to a halt after six stops, the marker on the wall signaling that they're at U Street. Olivia's heart immediately begins to ache and her face falls. She glances down at her hands that rest idly in her lap and bites her cheek. Out of all the places he could've brought her today, she never once thought he'd bring her here.

"This would be us." Fitz's baritone voice breaks through the haze of sadness that's wafted above her. He rises to his feet and holds his hand out for her to take. Immediately Olivia laces her fingers between his; holding his hand has become somewhat second nature to her. She takes a deep breath in and forces a smile on her face that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"U-Street," she starts as they move out together, through the crowd, off the platform, and up the escalator. "I haven't been to this part of DC for a while."

"It's fine that I brought you here, right?" there's a tint of confusion to Fitz's voice Olivia picks up on, as they stand off to the right of the escalator.

She feels guilty, guessing that he's sensed the shift in her mood, but wonders what she can tell him; what will abate his confusion and what won't re-open a festering wound for her.

"Yeah, it's fine…" they exit the station, the street roaring to life with people. "It's just…this is –was— always one of my mom's favorite places to bring me." A melancholic smile tugs at her cheeks, careening across her face, and Olivia immediately regrets her words; nevertheless, she presses on. "It was what we did every Saturday when I was kid. Ben's Chili and Malcolm X Park. Sometimes we'd go down to Howard so mom could show me where she went to school."

Fitz smiles. "Why'd you two stop coming, if you don't mind me asking?"

Olivia's gaze drops to the cement as they meander down the street hand in hand. Briefly she tries to recall when she'd last been on this side of town without her mother, but can't.

"She died about eleven years ago now. Breast cancer."

"Oh."

She glances up just in time to see the pained expression cross Fitz's features. She knows the expression well and thinks back to earlier that week when he'd told her about loosing his wife and children; had she looked upon him as he does her now?

He squeezes her hand. "I'm sorry, I did - we can go somewhere else if you want."

"You didn't know, Fitz, it's fine." Olivia promises, though the dull pang in her belly says otherwise. Twelve years and it's still not easy to talk about the mother she'd lost, though now she feels guilty for not telling him sooner. He'd shared with her his own lost, and yet she hadn't exchanged the favor.

The conversation falls sparse as Olivia preoccupies herself with silently cataloging all the changes to the neighborhood her mother loved. All around them, the darkening sky fills with the sounds of life. Music blares, voices boom, and people flood the streets. Maya Pope's imprint is all over U-Street; Ben's Chili Bowl, The Duke Ellington mural on True Reformer Building. Olivia thinks of early Saturday mornings and skinned knees from running through Malcolm X park; she thinks of trying Ethiopian food and visiting her mother's ancestors at the African American Civil War Museum. Mainly she thinks of seeing her mother's smile and hearing her voice.

Without thinking, her grip tightens on Fitz's hand. Now she remembers why she avoids this place, it hurts to be reminded of what she'll never have again.

"You okay?" Fitz asks. "I'd be fine going somewhere else."

A somber smile tugs at her cheeks. "No, no. You made plans here. We're going to stay here. I'll be okay. I _am_ okay. It's just-"

It's Fitz's turn to squeeze her hand. "I know. I get it. Sometimes I go past my wife's favorite bookstore and... I get it."

They share somber smiles and Olivia nods. She knows he gets it, he has ten years' worth of self-seclusion to prove it. But didn't she, too? He'd hidden himself away in a church; she'd tried to fill the void with warm bodies and meaningless 'relationships.'

They move down U street and turn right on 13th. The dull ache in her stomach starts to subside thanks to Fitz's presence next to her. She takes comfort in knowing that she doesn't have to explain how she feels and that he just seems to get it. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Fitz watching her, his head tilted ever so subtly. This isn't the first time tonight she's caught him just staring. He'd done so on the train more than once.

"See something you like?" she teases harmlessly.

"I do." A burst of red flashes across his cheeks and he ducks his head.

"Enough to tell me where we're going?" Olivia bites her bottom lip and raises her brows playfully, happy to find a reprieve from the heaviness of their previous conversation.

Fitz fixes her with a look. "You don't do surprises well, do you?"

"I don't."

"Well, we're almost there anyways. Not much longer, Miss Impatient."

"I am not impatient. I'm enthused, ardent, fervid, fervent…"

"And apparently, an English teacher. What do you do, read the dictionary in your spare time?"

"Maybe…"

"Well, then this will be a treat for you either way. Miss Pope; we're here." He points to the building on the corner.

"Busboys and Poets?"

"You've never heard of it?"

"No, I have. I just...I guess it slipped my mind. It's a relatively new place. I've heard great things about it. I also heard it was impossible to get into. How do you know about it?" she questions. "It's supposedly a liberal mecca. Antiwar, anti-Bush, anti-organized religion…."

"I told you; before you were the bleeding-heart liberal here, I was." He winks and Olivia eyes him suspiciously. Every time she thinks she has him figured out even the slightest, he switches up on her. Not that she minds much; she's grateful that he's truly more progressive and forward thinking than his profession suggestions. It's a breath of fresh air and a nice change of pace.

"We're going to be waiting forever for a table, you know that, right?"

"No, we won't. Come on." He un-threads their fingers and Olivia laments the contact until she feels his hand come to rest on the small of her back. She fights the urge to lean into him and pushes her feet forward as he leads her to the door.

"Father Fitzgerald, you made it!" A dark-haired girl with pale olive skin and a baby face calls out, waving the pair through the crowd as she balances a tray of drinks in hand; she can't be more than eighteen.

The place is packed; wall to wall people eat and linger about. The crowd is a mix of old and young; Black, white, and everything in between. On the walls, there's an extensive and intricate mural of civil rights activists floodded on both sides by peace signs and images of protestors. There's book shelves, and a bar; stairs that lead somewhere; sofas, chairs, tables and Olivia hears a music. In all honesty, she's a bit overwhelmed as she takes in the restaurant and its eclecticism, but she can't help but to think how her mother probably would've loved it.

"Liv…Liv?" Fitz's voice comes at her through a fog and she turns to see him giving her a quizzical expression. "You with me?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry, I'm just amazed. This place is beautiful."

"It is, isn't it? There's a back room, too, where we do poetry reading and live music if you want to check that out!" The girl informs them with a bright grin as she slides the tray onto the bar.

"Wow…" Olivia's almost speechless.

"Come on, let me take you to your table!" She leads them through the crowd, towards the back of the restaurant to a table next to a large window, a reserved sign rests on the tabletop. On the wall behind them hangs a colorful painting of Langston Hughes.

Olivia slides into the booth and Fitz slides in across from her.

"I'm so glad you could make it, Father. When Andy called to let me know you'd be in, I didn't think we were actually going to see you; something always comes up to stop you from getting to us." The girl continues. "Then you left town for a bit there…."

Olivia glances up to see Fitz's head droop; well it's nice to know she wasn't the only one he lost contact with.

"I did, but I'm back. Allow me to introduce you to my date. Olivia, this is Quinn; Quinn, Olivia."

Date, his use of the word takes Olivia by surprise even though moments ago they'd been walking down the street hand in hand. Hearing date and Fitz being referred to as Father in such close proximity throws Olivia for a loop. She wonders what Quinn thinks of them; of a Father out on a date, but her thoughts are interrupted by a hand in front of her.

"Nice to meet you, Olivia." Quinn greets her.

"Quinn here is Noah Perkins sister." Fitz informs Olivia and a lightbulb goes off in Olivia's head. Noah is the school's fourth grade spelling champ.

"Oh, Noah! He's a lovely boy. Your parents must be proud!"

"I'm actually Noah's guardian," a terse smile crosses Quinn's face. "Our parents aren't in the picture."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't –"

"It's okay. I'm just grateful for Father Fitzgerald here. Without him, I don't think I would have been allowed to take care of my brother. He's a good man. I'll give you two a minute to go through the menu and I'll be back."

Olivia picks up the menus Quinn set's down and toys with the edge, her eyes glimpsing the dishes before she sets it back down. She suddenly has a million questions for Fitz.

"Quinn's a nice kid." Olivia comments.

"She is."

"What's her story? She seems to know you pretty well…."

Fitz smirks, setting his menu down. "Her parents weren't into anything good; abandoned Quinn and her brother last year. They were sleeping in the school after hours and stealing food to get by. I had to stay late to do some financial documents and caught them sleeping in the gym. Broke me. They didn't tell anyone because Quinn was afraid her brother would be taken from her because she was only seventeen at the time. And she's right; her brother would've ended up in foster care and she would've been placed in a group home. So, I helped them keep up their cover until Quinn turned 18 this past November and could apply for guardianship of Noah. Andy, the owner, is a friend of mine. He gave her the job as a favor so we could prove income. She shares a place with another mom from the school and her son now. I think she's doing well. I know she'd like to take some college courses, but she's trying to keep Noah afloat…"

Olivia listens to the story with rapt fascination, her heart breaking for the young girl. She roughly understands what its like to be abandoned by a parent. After her mother's death, her father had shipped her across town for boarding school. Even though they were only miles apart, never once did he bother to come see her except on Parents' Day where he played the dutiful dad. She couldn't image being completely tossed away without even financial help.

"So, you call me a saint for helping Huck, yet here you are taking care of America's youth…" she crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow.

Fitz's cheeks turn a light red and he shakes his head. "I'm supposed to do things like this, it's in my job description. Single-handedly turning yourself into the VA isn't the same thing."

Together they share a laugh and Olivia rolls her eyes before they go back to the menus. Everything looks good, though Olivia's mouth truly waters for a bowl of Ben's chili. Ever since they'd past it moments ago, she can't get it off her mind.

"Something wrong?" Fitz questions over the top of his menu. "There's a knot in the middle of your forehead that tells me you're overthinking. What is it?"

Oh…could she really ask him to leave this beautiful restaurant and walk the five or so blocks back down from where they came just to feed a craving?

"It's silly; I just keep thinking about Chili, that's all."

Fitz eyes his menu, "I don't think I see Chili. Isn't it more of a winter food?"

"Yeah. It is. It's probably because we passed Ben's earlier and when I'd come here with my mom we'd always get a bowl to split. With extra cheese and onion."

He sets down his menu. "You want to go? To Ben's? I'd be more than happy to if you think it won't cause you pain."

This man really was a saint. "Oh, no it's fine, Fitz. It really is. Plus, this place is great. I can find something here and just grab a bowl later to take home with me. Huck would probably like…"

Before she has a chance to finish her thought, two things happen simultaneously; Quinn returns and Fitz rises to his feet, hand out for Olivia to take.

"Sorry, Quinn, we're going to actually head out. I've got the taste for Chili and it's not on the menu."

"I can see if the Chef would be willing to—."

"No, no. It's fine. We'll just walk down to Ben's. Besides, there's a bunch of hungry customers out there. Feel free to let them have our spot."

Quinn nods, the grin on her face unmistakable as Olivia looks at Fitz with incredulity etched into her gaze. "Fitz, we could've just ate here. I would've found something…" the disbelief is high in her tone. He's really going to rearrange their date on a whim to accommodate her nostalgia? She couldn't remember the last time someone had done something so thoughtful and spontaneous for her.

"My date wants chili so we're going to go get chili."

/

Ben's Chili Bowl is damn near the size of a walnut in comparison to Busboys and Poets. The restaurant's tiny stature does not compensate for the thick crowd that gathers around it. People move in and out at a whirlwind pace, chili dogs and burgers in hand. A small group gathers outside eating and Fitz feels like all eyes are on him as he flits through the crowd, hand in hand with Olivia. She hasn't stopped smiling since he suggested trading in Busboys and Poets for the little dodgy Ma and Pop restaurant. His stomach rumbles as they squeeze in through the doorway and up to the counter.

He's been to Ben's a total of once before and had only had a half-smoke, but Olivia looks ready to go; her eyes wide as she glances at the menu.

"Don't you just love the smell?" she asks, stepping up to the counter.

"Can I get a large chili bowl with extra cheese and –"

"Is that Olivia Pope? Is that little Miss Pope, Maya's baby girl?" An older Black man with a greying beard and skin several shades darker than Olivia calls out.

"Mr. Gaines!" Olivia shouts and Fitz watches as she reaches up on her tippy toes to lean across the counter and hug the old man.

"How you doin' baby girl? We haven't seen much of you or your daddy since Maya passed. It's been what, ten years now?"

"Eleven, Mr. Gaines, and I'm sorry. It's just been…"

"I know. Your daddy always had plans that you'd one day rule the world. He still got you going?"

Fitz retreats from the conversation, suddenly feeling like an interloper. Instead he lets his eyes roam around the small shop, hands snug in his pocket. He wants to ask Olivia more questions about her mother, about dealing with a loss like that at such a young age. She'd been thirteen when her mother died. He was thirty-one when he lost his family and couldn't handle it. How had she lost someone so important so young and lived to tell the tale? He wants to sit and talk with her about her father and about this Mr. Gaines and about-

"Fitz…Fitz."

At the sound of his name, Fitz finds his way out of his thoughts and looks down to see Olivia starring up at him. Her large doe eyes shine brightly against the fluorescent lights. "Want to split a bowl of chili with me?" she asks.

He thinks back to their conversation mere moments ago about visiting this place with her mother and nods. "I'd be honored."

"You know what to do, Mr. Gaines. I hope."

"Oh, girl. Now Mr. Gaines is old, but I'm not that old. Speaking of old…who's this fellow here." Mr. Gaines runs his eyes up and down Fitz, eyebrow raised.

The once over leaves Fitz feeling exposed; the age comment causing a pique of annoyance to rise in his stomach. He feels as if he's under a microscope. Tilting his head, he turns to Olivia, not certain what she's calling their excursion. He'd seen the uncertainty in her eyes when he'd told Quinn they were on a date. She'd made it more than clear that his chosen profession unnerved her just a bit and that she thought she's corrupting him in some shape or form by accepting his date.

"This is Fitz, Mr. Gaines, my date." Olivia answers with a smile.

A warmth spreads across Fitz's chest and a silly grin stretches across his face.

Mr. Gaines throws his hands up in the air in exaggerated fashion, interrupting their moment. "Oh no, no. Nope. Not my baby girl on a date. Haven't seen you in years and you come back talmbout a date. Nope. Won't be no chili sharing in here. I can't have it. You still my little big head…"

Fitz chuckles at the comment and Olivia's jaw falls open. "Mr. Gaines, I'm a grown woman!"

"Nah, you're my little big head, baby girl, though you've grown into your head nicely, those braids do help, I'm…" he mumbles off, laughing to himself before he steps back from the counter and calls out their order.

Olivia hangs her head in embarrassment and Fitz can see a faint pink tint rise in her cheeks.

"Little big head?" he repeats, amusement written all over his face. His father had given him nicknames as a child, but none he's fond of, nor any he'd like to repeat.

"Don't repeat that!" she hisses, "It was an awful nickname. Scarred me as a child. We all knew I had a big head, I didn't need to be told."

"Order up for little big head!" Mr. Gaines calls out and Olivia narrows her eyes at the old man, she reaches for her purse to pay, but Fitz has already pulled out his wallet and hands Mr. Gaines a twenty.

"Fitz, I could've paid!" Olivia insists. "Or we could've split it."

"It's okay, Livvie. You can buy me dessert." He moves to grab the food, but Olivia's already taken it. He doesn't fight her on carrying their food this time around, the bruise and scrape on his left cheek stopping him.

Mr. Gaines hands Fitz back his change and he pockets it and then hands him two bottles of water.

"I'll go find somewhere to sit." Olivia walks away and Fitz moves to follow her, but Mr. Gaines stops him.

"Aye, Fritz."

"Fitz…"

"Fritz, let me tell you something; that girl's been through a lot with losing her mama and that daddy of hers. She's family around here. We don't take too kind to family getting hurt…."

"I don't plan on ever hurting Olivia, Mr. Gaines. I like her, a lot."

"Yeah and you look like the type with _a lot_ of baggage who likes _a lot_ of _dessert._ " Mr. Gaines says, though double meaning of his words clear.

Although he knows the comment is not meant in offense, but rather affection for Olivia, Fitz is annoyed. "With all due respect, sir, you don't know me, so I'd ask that you refrain from making snap judgements. I understand you're looking out for her, and it's appreciated, but I'd rather step in front of a bus than hurt that woman." With conviction to his tone, Fitz walks away from the conversation and heads over to Olivia. She has the large chili bowl resting in the middle of the table with two spoons, one on each side of the bowl, waiting to be used. There's a hunk of cheese covering the beans and meat with a bit of onion sprinkled on top.

He takes the seat across from her noting how she's yet to stop smiling since they walked in.

"What was that back there with Mr. Gaines?" she asks, picking up her spoon and swirling around some cheese.

"Oh nothing, he was just telling me about other stuff on the menu I should try."

"I didn't know priests were prevaricators." She quipped.

"And I thought you taught history, not English." He challenge as he picks up his own spoon and searches for a bit of chili not doused in cheese.

Olivia sticks her tongue out in a childish manner and the gesture causes Fitz to chuckle. She digs into the bowl, wrapping the cheese around her spoon as if it were spaghetti noodles.

"Really; little big head?"

"Fitz!"

"Okay, I'm sorry." He mimics Olivia and digs into the cheese, rolling it over his spoon and silently praying the cheese overload won't make his stomach hurt later on.

He moves to take the bite he'd just collected, but stops to watch as Olivia pops the concoction into mouth. Her eyes slip shut and a look of pure euphoria crosses her face. Fitz finds himself having to set down his spoon and open his water bottle as parts of him pay a little _too_ much attention to her actions. Baseball stats and the ten commandments begin to run through his thoughts and after he's settled, he looks up to find Olivia staring at him.

She's smiling, one elbow on the table and her chin propped up in her hand, the other hand holding her clean spoon. "Thanks, by the way. For bringing me here. And for taking me to Busboys and Poets even though we didn't stay. I really did like it the short amount of time we were there. Maybe we can go back one day."

 _Maybe we can go back one day._

For the thousandth time that day, Fitz smiles. "Don't thank me yet, I meant it, you owe me dessert. Also, I'd be more than happy to go back with you."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: So I have to apologise for the month in-between, but I've been working 60hr weeks, which leaves me drained and annoyed. Y'all can actually thank hookedonconnix on twitter for this. My prima got me going yesterday and I typed this all out today.

Look for something longer when I'm not dying and can find ten minutes to myself (same applies to a Sleep On the Floor update).

I hope you enjoy.

-M

* * *

Two ice cream cones and a traipse through Malcolm X park later to hear the drummers prepare for the Sunday drum circle, Olivia finds herself sandwiched against Fitz and a pole, in a packed subway car on the green line. Their night is coming to a close; Fitz is responsible for eight a.m. mass it it's bordering on ten p.m. so like Cinderella, it's time to go.

Olivia keeps her back pressed against the pole, a takeout bowl of Ben's chili dangling in a bag that hangs from her fingers, as Fitz stands directly in front of her, his hand gripping the metal just above her head. Her eyes flit down to his lips every few seconds and she wonders what it'd be like to kiss him. Would their lips touching taint the halo perched atop his head? He's a priest, a fact that she keeps reminding herself of as she finds herself being inexplicably draw to him. He's a flame and she's a moth. Or is it the other way around? She isn't the one who's pledged her life to God, he is. She's keenly aware that her presence in his life could pluck the angel wings from his shoulder blades, yet she doesn't want to stay away from him. He'd asked her a couple of nights back what she wanted and the answer is increasingly becoming _him._ One date in and she's concluded that Fitzgerald Grant is perfect; thoughtful, sincere, and handsome. He is a _man._

"Now who's staring?"

The base in his voice permeates through the hubbub of the train and she jumps, startled. A soft "what?" slips from her lips.

"You're staring at me. Have been the whole ride. See something you like?" he throws her own words back at her just as suave as can be. A crooked smile dances on his face.

She wants to swoon, amazed by the sudden bravado he's taken on, the confidence that seems to carry his shoulders, but stops herself. "Maybe."

' _More like definitely,'_ she thinks to herself wondering what he has tucked beneath those stuffy black button ups and stiff white collars. The white polo he wears expertly shows off his muscled arms and she has the sudden wish for the train to jerk to a halt so their bodies are knocked together.

 _He's still a priest, Olivia. Stop._

Internally she chides herself for the licentious thoughts she's having and shakes her head, homing in on the man – not the muscle – in front of her. "I had a nice time tonight."

The smile that breaks across Fitz's face melts Olivia's heart. It stretches upward, causing lines to crease beneath his eyes, his cheeks to widen. Is he literally swelling with pride?

"I'm glad. It's been…the last date I was on was in the nineties." he confesses and it amazes her how the unwitting seducer from mere moments ago gives way to the almost sheepish man in front of her. He ducks his head and she smiles. Is he _embarrassed_?

"Really? The nineties? Could've fooled me. Your dating etiquette leaves me wondering why I haven't tried a little priest before."

Fitz chuckles and Olivia smirks.

"You traded in all of your plans to accommodate my walk down memory lane. I'm pretty sure Ben's and Malcolm X for impromptu double-dutch and drums weren't on your list of things to do today?" she asks curiously.

"They weren't, but the smile on your face was worth every moment of it." He confesses.

The train skids to a halt and they're jostled forward, Fitz stops himself before they can collide.

A braid slips from the clip used to pull it back and falls against Olivia's forehead and Fitz pushes it behind her left ear, his touch causing her skin to tingle. The overhead speaker buzzes to life announcing that they've reached L'Enfant Plaza where line transfers can be made. People pile out of the car leaving empty seats all around, but Olivia doesn't move to take a seat. Instead, she stares again. Fitz doesn't comment on her blatant gawking this time, instead he returns her gaze, his body leaning forward – almost as if he's encouraging her to close the gap between them. But she doesn't get the chance to, the train jolts to life and a passerby asking if anyone has any spare change breaks their minute-long gaze. A gaze that leaves Olivia almost gasping for air; the atmosphere between the pair charged with promise.

She needs to kiss him.

/

Olivia Pope is driving him crazy and he doesn't know if she realizes it yet. Choosing to stand with her on the metro instead of sit – preferably on opposite sides so the thoughts in his head can't be heard – had been a mistake. He can't help but wonder if she knows just how in awe he is of her? He needs to know if she feels it, too. The electricity between them or if he's a desperate man growing delusional in his old age.

He wants nothing more than to kiss her, here right now as the train screeches to a halt and signals they've reached their stop. Seize those plump lips and never let go. How can one woman so small in stature, but so grand in aura not be cognizant of the effect she has on people. One moment he feels himself grow with pride in her presence, the devil-may-care, mischievous youth he once was, roaring its head for the first time in ages; the next he finds himself going green beneath her gaze – sheepish and self-conscious – desperate for her approval.

She's going to drive him crazy.

"This is me." She whispers as the train doors ding open.

Regrettably Fitz takes a few steps backwards and Olivia pushes away from the pole. Her story from earlier, about the men attacking her, suddenly barrels into his thoughts, and he finds himself standing in a step ahead of her, on guard, hand out for her to take. She does without hesitation and they exit the train together.

Fitz is somewhat shocked to find Huck, arms folded, standing on the platform.

"I didn't know if he's walk you to the door or not." Huck informs them and Fitz wants to protest, to raise objects about the kind of man Huck things him to be, but doesn't. He refrains, grateful that the man looks out for Olivia as he does.

"I brought you chili, extra cheese." Olivia holds out the bag for Huck to take and he does, his bushy brows and beard reminding Fitz of Yosemite Sam.

People filter past them and Olivia turns on her heels to stand directly in Fitz's path. "You can head back home, if you'd like." She tells him, though she makes no move to separate their hands.

"No, it's okay. I want to walk you to your door. Plus, I don't fancy saying good-night on a subway platform."

"Huck –" Olivia starts, but the man is already exiting the escalator.

Fitz and Olivia follow behind him, their fingers still linked.

The walk back to her apartment is short, the area busy with signs of Saturday night life, much like Olivia's building. Huck holds the door for the pair as they separate hands to make the trek up to the third floor. Children's laughter and loud music greet them as they move up the stairs.

Fitz finds it hard to stop his eyes from trailing her body. The supple flesh of her bare legs, the curve of her backside, and the sway of her hips as they climb all call to him. She's mesmerizing. And he's respectful.

His eyes snap down to the wood of the stairs, listening as they creak beneath their feet. It isn't until they reach the hall that leads to her door do they realize they have a shadow; Huck.

"Huck." Olivia shoots, tilting her head as she places a hand on her hip challengingly.

Fitz watches as Huck fidgets for a moment, uneasy on his feet. From what Fitz can see of Huck's face, the man looks apprehensive.

"I'll be fine." She assures, shooing him away.

There's much reluctance in Huck's movements, but he walks away nonetheless, the stairs creak, signaling his disappearance.

Olivia leads the way down to her apartment, keys jingling in hand. Her pace slows as they reach her door and she turns around, back falling against the wood.

Instinctually, Fitz's hands slide into his pockets and he rocks back on his heels. The warm light of the hall causes Olivia's bright brown eyes to sparkle, the gloss on her lips to shimmer, and Fitz wants to kiss her.

"So, you're really not saving face, you had a good time tonight?" He asks, a tinge of anxiousness in his tone and his eyes drop to the wood floor.

"I did. I haven't had a such a carefree night in forever." Her keys dangle from her fingers and Fitz thinks of that movie that came out the year prior. What was it called? The one with Will Smith as a date doctor? Hitch, perhaps?

He remembers how the Fresh Prince's character told his students that a woman fiddling with her keys is a sign she _wants_ a good night kiss, but Fitz isn't sure if that's crossing a line. She still seems skittish about his chosen profession and kissing her might make her even more so. He drags his eyes up from the floor and makes the mistake of glimpsing her naturally pouty lips.

"I'm glad, I am. We should…maybe we can try Busboys and Poets again?" he asks, the eagerness unwilling to be pushed from his voice.

"I'd like that. A lot."

"Okay, so, I'll call you then?"

Olivia nods, her keys switching between her hands. "I'll see you Monday?"

"Monday." He agrees, a content smile on his lips before he takes a step back. His eyes almost miss the way Olivia's smile falters, but catch it last minute, just as she turns and slides the key into its lock.

Fuck it.

"Olivia."

"Yeah?" she asks, turning back around and Fitz makes his move.

Before he can over analyze what he's doing, his lips are on hers; adrenaline spurs him forward, and courses through his body like a runaway freight train. He's curling his hand around her neck, fingers threading through braids, and his other hand reaching for her waist. There's a long moment of his mouth on hers. She breathes in like a sigh and opens her mouth and he takes it as an invitation to slide his tongue along hers.

Their mouths mesh in perfect synchronicity and together they taste like ebbing sadness, new beginnings, hope, and relief.

One of them, he can't tell who, is shaking. Maybe it's him, maybe it's her, he doesn't know. All he knows is that she's melding into him, eagerly return his kiss and for the first time in a long time, he's breathing.

For the first time since he lost everything, he feels alive.

/

Electricity course through her entire body as the hunger for him grows. He tastes like a fresh bottle of red wine, perfectly chilled; a piece of the most decadent chocolate cake; her favorite memory of childhood freedom; the smell of warm sheets fresh from the drawer; the sight of glorious sunlight breaking across a clouded sky on a rainy day; he tastes like all her favorite things rolled into one and she can't get enough.

He doesn't kiss like a man who hasn't known physical contact in over a decade; he kisses like a well skilled lover and Olivia fights to keep her knees locked; she fights to match his intensity, to not let him overwhelm her in the most delicious of ways. This is far beyond what a first kiss should be. It's intense, passionate, and all consuming. Her lips burn and her body hums. She's out of breath, dangerously close to suffocating in him.

Only a curt, "ahem" from the direction of the stairwell seems to jog Olivia's memory of where they are.

They break apart, Fitz's forehead falling against her. His breath is hot against her face, and she fights to catch her breath. It takes her a moment to realize she's wrapped her arms around his waist and he in turn is just as wrapped around her. They're like magnets.

Shit.

They're in trouble.

"Ahem…" comes from the direction of the stairs again and Olivia turns her head to see her neighbor, Ms. Hubbard, who occupies the apartment two doors down eyeing them suspiciously.

"I got a granddaughter in here, Miss Olivia, who already got a world trying to grow her up too fast. She don't need a live show to help her along."

Olivia's cheeks begin to burn and she sees Alicia, her thirteen-year-old neighbor, peeking her head out from behind her grandmother grinning.

"Get back in this house." Ms. Hubbard snaps, turning around and the door slams behind the two. Olivia looks up to see Fitz as red as red as a vine ripe red tomato at the end of harvest.

"I have nosey neighbors." She jokes, but makes no move to wiggle out of his embrace. His arms feel like home.

"You do, but it's okay. I should get going…"

"You should."

"I have Mass in the morning."

"Eight a.m. sharp."

Again, neither makes a move to extract themselves from the other's hold. They just smile and stare, their eyes sharing secrets of admiration and wonder.

Finally, Fitz steps back. "Bye, Livvie."

"Night."

She watches as he goes, the floor boards and eventually the stairs alerting her that he's leaving. Once she's certain he's gone, she rushes into her apartment and over to the window that looks out onto the street. She can't help but to swoon as he goes, noticing a slight gait to his walk that hadn't been there before.

Fitzgerald Grant just may be the end of her.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Alright y'all, so this is a bit of a 'gonna disappear' notice. Deadlines are closer that they appear in the mirror and now i've got to get on them. I did promise myself that I'd try to set a bit of time aside every now and then to tinker on this and Sleep On the Floor, though.

I know i'll fail at disappearing, though, so don't take that too seriously because I've actually manage to map this entire fic out.

Our world gets wider in this chapter. We learn a bit more about Fitz and a tad bit more about Olivia. We also get to new albeit familiar faces. One who is probably up to no good.

I hope you enjoy.

* * *

A week is all that remains of the school year for the students and staff of Saint Gabriel Our Lady of Sorrow. Papers litter the hallways, students' attention spans dwindle, and staffing decisions are being made. The archdiocese has yet to replace Sister Langston, although Fitz has been reassured repeatedly that a couple of candidates for replacement are on the way. Sally's abrupt departure and the reversal of Olivia's firing have left some faculty members whispering - questioning his actions the entirety of the year, but he's unbothered. This year has left him with a lot to think about – a good deal to consider – as he gears up to take a break from it all. He likes his job, always has, children have always been dear to him, but there's another part of his job he is no longer certain of; priesthood.

Fitzgerald Grant hasn't always been a religious man. He'd grown up in a two-parent home, the only child of a Merrill Lynch investment banker, (Fitzgerald "Big Jerry" Grant, II) and tea company heiress (Margaret 'Maggie' Grant). His father had, had political ambitions the entirety of Fitz's formative years, serving two terms as a California Senator, and then as the thirty-fifty governor of California in the early 1980s. Big Jerry had always eyed the presidency, but to reasons unbeknownst to Fitz, hadn't been successful in his attempts. Religion in his household had always been used as a prop, a press op, to further his family's reputation in the public eye; a fact Fitz came to learn was commonplace in the world of politics. Religion was a weapon to wield, a campaign slogan, a soundbite. It hadn't been until Fitz lost everything and hit rock bottom that he'd found religion – the good in it – and God.

Dedicating his life to God had been an easy decision; a life of solitude and good deed to ensure that the world kept turning with as little as pain possible to spur it forward. As a priest, a man dedicated solely to the Lord's teachings, Fitz knowingly closed himself off to life, to love.

There wouldn't be another in his heart, as far as he'd been concerned; no second family nor second chance. But then _she'd_ shown up. His draw to her had been instantaneous.

She's young, he knows and he often wonders when she'll grow tired of him and his old man ways, but he can't stop himself from fantasizing about a future with her. Before, when he'd thought of where he's life would lead in the years to come, he'd always seen himself in a confessional or at a pulpit. But now he sees himself besides her – with a family. She's the new beginning he wants except the priesthood is – amongst other things - a vow of abstinence and solitude; and he doesn't know if he wants that part any more. He wants to serve God, but is this the right path for him to continue to do it?

These are all thoughts he ponders upon as he watches the school yard abuzz with children from Olivia's classroom window. The room is stifling beneath the strong June sun. Saint Gabriel is a K-12 private Catholic school and while the younger children are at recess, their older counterparts are in liturgy. Olivia paddles about her classroom, pulling down decorations and boxing them up. The soft sounds of old soul and R&B saunter from the radio on Olivia's desk.

Fitz pivots on his heels to watch her, a crooked smile on his face. She's changed her hair; the long braids now replaced by a low ponytail of thick curls that stretch below her shoulder blades. She's dressed in white linen slacks, open toed sandals, and a lightweight sky blue sleeveless blouse. Ever since their date, nearly a month prior, they've been inseparable. Each spare moment inside and outside of the school, they've spent together. He's been to her apartment so many times now that he's started bringing Huck food. Huck no longer eyes him with (as much) suspicion, but rather with slight warning.

Her eyes catch his and she's smirking. She knows he's been staring – again. They do this often –stare – so in awe of the other that they're at a loss for words.

"I have to cancel dinner tonight." her smirk transforms into a frown. "My best friend is in town and I promised dinner."

Disappointment inches it's way across Fitz's face. "Oh."

"I'm sorry. I just haven't seen him in a while."

 _Him?_ The pang of jealousy that seizes his gut takes him by surprise. The sheer thought of another man out on the town with Olivia inspires envy within his tall frame. He's suddenly reminded of that moment all those months ago in this very room he'd interrupted a kiss between her and her ex-boyfriend.

"Okay." Fitz says, voice even.

Olivia quirks a brow in his direction and tilts her head.

"What? It's okay. Enjoy time with your friend."

"His name is Harrison. He's Mr. Gaines's grandson. He's like my brother." She informs him, rolling a poster of Shirley Chisholm up. "I've known him my whole life. We've thrown dirt at each other; played in mud together; I was even his Prom date."

"Somehow I can't imagine _you_ throwing dirt." jokes Fitz; he knows she's trying to placate him by explaining away her visitor, but the uneasiness is still there. Olivia Pope is beautiful, breathtakingly so. Fitz sees the way men stare at her, eye her as she moves. And he's just an old man. An old man with a job that possesses endless complications in the formation of a new relationship.

Olivia shoves the posted into a tall box that houses the rest of her posters and then make her way towards him. He can't help himself as his eyes fall to her hips, the way they sway mesmerizing him.

"I was the best dirt thrower you've ever seen. Knew how to get him right in the eyes." She stops just short of reaching him, her ebony eyes shining against the warm glow of sunlight slipping into the room from the window. "He's a friend."

Fitz's fingers twitch at his sides as the song switches. A friend that knew her well; a friend she shares history with; a friend who isn't a man bound by the cloth.

"Fitz…"

Insecurity and jealousy battle back and forth in Fitz's chest. This is supposed to be the honeymoon phase of their relationship, but circumstance is impeding the lightheartedness of it all. He sighs, looking to center himself. The voice of Chaka Khan fills the air; _Sweet Thang._ He cracks a smile and looks around the partially barren room, eyes crossing the empty doorway. The usually busy hallways just outside her door is empty and he supposes those who aren't outside with children are in faculty lounges with food.

He kicks away from the windowsill and walks to her door, closing it before he trudges back to his spot near the windowsill. He then extends his hand out towards her. "Dance with me?"

"What?"

"Dance with me. Please, Liv." he repeats.

"What if someone sees us?"

"Two co-workers, innocently dancing to a song?"

"A priest and a woman."

"So?"

/

Olivia both loves and hates moments like these with him. Moments where he throws caution to the wind and moments where he seems uncertain of himself. She wants to shake him and tell him that he's the only man she'll have eyes for, for the perceivable future; he's caught her heart. Any hesitation on her end isn't because of _him._ It's because of the situation they're in. He's a priest. And then she wants to smile, moved by his hesitancy because each second they spend together he's reclaiming a part of his life he'd thought he'd long lost.

Any argument she has against taking his hand flies right out the door the moment her palm is in his. Just like that night all those months ago when he'd kissed her, his movements shock her. Again, he doesn't move like a man that's been cooped up in a rectory for the last ten years. He's light on his feet as his free hand drops to her waist and he pulls her close. Olivia's palm tingles in his and she reaches up with her left hand to hold onto his shoulder.

The song is smooth, soft, yet soulful, and she recognises it from her childhood as one of her mother's favorites. Maya Pope would sing it to Olivia as she hummed about the house cooking dinner and helping her daughter with her homework.

Fitz pulls her closer and Olivia tilts her head back to look up at him. His gaze is intense; his slate eyes now bright blue beneath the sun's sideways glare. Her heart flutters in her chest and she doesn't protest when she feels him pull her closer.

"You're pretty good on your feet."

"Pretty fly for a white guy, huh?" Fitz grins.

Olivia's eyes widen and she immediately drops her head against his chest, unable to stop the laughter that shakes her frame. "Where did you even get that from?" she manages to choke out in between chuckles.

"Some guy in your building. He said, and I quote, 'You locked that down? Wow, you must be pretty fly for a white guy.' Now I'm not sure what I locked down, but I took it as a compliment."

His words only encourage her laughter to grow stronger and she shakes her head. "Oh god, you said that outloud. He said that outloud." she stops and Fitz drops her hand. He slides his own down her side, causing gooseflesh to pimple along her skin even though it's at least 84 degrees outside.

They've kept their touching to a minimal. though their kisses have remained heated. She isn't sure where he falls regarding sex, they've yet to broach the topic, but she wants remain respectful to him and to his faith.

Olivia follows his lead, looping her arms around his neck, as the world falls away around them and her laughter subsides. She gazes up at him and they start to move once more.

"Since you move like this, I'm going to make you take me dancing one of these nights."

"You wouldn't have to make me, I'd be your willing participant."

"Where'd you learn to dance like this?"

"Childhood lessons, adulthood reiterations…" he leans her back slightly and Olivia has to stop herself from swooning. He's an enigma. One minute insecure and uncertain, the next all bravado and confidence.

"The dancing priest from D.C. Bet we could sell that as a reality show and make a bunch of money."

"I've dedicated myself to a life of poverty and piousness, remember?" he laughs and Olivia's eyes land on his mouth. She wants to kiss him. They're in her classroom, mid-day, with the grapevine already buzzing with rumors about them, and yet...she wants to kiss him right here; only slightly aware of the fact that they're semi in public.

Fuck it.

Reaching up on her tippy toes, Olivia seizes his lips. Her movements are tentative at first, slow as she waits for him to catch on. She nips at his bottom lip, tugging on it with her teeth before drawing his bottom lip into her mouth, sucking it gently. He gasps, breathing into her mouth and returns her movements with vigor. One of her arms loosens it's grip from around his neck and her fingers find his cheek. Short spurts of stubble meet her fingertips as she traces his jaw and chin. Fitz deepens the kiss, breathing her in, his tongue slipping past her lips. He tastes like butterscotch and bright days - his lips are sunkissed - and against her sides his hands travel down and around so that he's lifting her up. All of her weight is against him and thank God because she has no more strength in her knees.

Suddenly she's hungry, but not for food. The burning in her lower belly has her clawing at the short strands of hair resting at the nape of his neck. She pulls him closer, drinking him in - thirsty. She needs more; wants more, but just as quickly as it begins, it ends.

Her classroom door creaks open. A short man, perhaps 5'6 or so stands in front of them. He's a bit balding with a round face and silver hair; he's dressed in black slacks and a black button down with a white collar.

His grey eyes shift between Olivia and Fitz as Olivia wipes at her mouth, her back to the door as she faces the window.

"I'm sorry, have I interrupted something?" the man questions, a tinge of bemusement to his otherwise flat tone.

"No, no." Fitz assures.

Olivia keeps her eyes pointed to the playground where children line up; recess is coming to a close.

"I'm Father Beene, the archdiocese sent me." the man tells them. Behind them there's shuffling of shoes and Olivia knows they're shaking hands.

"They didn't tell me they were sending anyone."

"Ah, right. I'm Father Beene, your new vice principal. I'm here to replace Sister Langston."

"Oh, right. They said they were sending candidates over, not that they'd found someone. How about we head back to my office to get things sorted?"

A few beats pass as she hears the bell ring to signal regular class schedule is set to resume. She pivots on her heel and her eyes find Fitz's. There's a pink tint to his cheeks, but other than that, he looks composed.

"Miss Pope, we'll continue our conversation later." Fitz tells her as he ushers Father Beene towards the door. Olivia simply nods.

/

"You have lipgloss on your mouth, Father Grant." Father Beene informs Fitz on the short steps to his office.

Redness creeps up Fitz's neck as Father Beene answers the question that'd been on Fitz's mind since the old man had popped up in Olivia's doorway (without knocking). He wipes at his mouth before opening the door and shuffling into his office.

"What you saw back there was -" Fitz pauses, searching for words to explain the complexities of the moment that the man had just interrupted. A moment that had needed interruption, if Fitz is honest with himself. He's wanted Olivia and his body had begun to respond to their proximity and touch.

"Am I starting before the end of the school year or do you want to integrate me now into the swing of things?" Father Beene asks, the topic changing on a dime.

Eyebrow raised, Fitz attempts to size up the shorter man in front of him, wondering idly what the man is getting at.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Am I sitting on the shelf until August or am I going into the game now, Coach?"

"Uhm, well I suppose we can start building together. I'm still sorting through the mess Sister Langston made while I was on health leave, so I could always use a second hand."

"Great, good. I'm here to help."

There's a glint in Father Beene's eyes that leaves Fitz on edge; the man's overeagerness leaves Fitz's brows knitting together in confusion. For some reason, he gets the feeling that Father Beene may do anything but help.

"Good, did they send you with any papers work? A CV? Something…"

/

Olivia absentmindedly touches her hand to her lips as the train chugs along towards home. The normal hustle and bustle of post school antics floods the train as she heads home. It's a bit past 5pm when she finally left Saint Gabriel; she'd held out for an extra two hours hoping to have a moment to say goodbye to Fitz, but the new vice principal had made that nearly impossible. The man had stuck to Fitz's side the rest of the day.

As the train docks at her stop, Olivia shuffles out, her tote in hand. Huck stands at the platform waiting for her.

"Where's the Father?" Huck questions as the stride towards the exit.

"At school still. I have dinner tonight with a friend and he has a new vice principal to cart around for a bit more." the disappointment seeps into her voice. As excited as she is to see Harrison, she wishes she were spending the night sharing greasy takeout and stories with Fitz.

Together Huck and Olivia exit the train station, making the short hike down to her building.

"You know, the offer still stands for cleaning crew at Busboys and Poets, Huck. Fitz knows the owner and that'd at least give you something to do besides babysitting me. Plus, there's a lot of other vets that frequent the place. You might find a friend." Olivia digs through her purse, searching for her keys. "It'll give you something to do besides babysit me."

"I like knowing you're safe, but I'll think about it. I promise, Liv."

"Thanks." She knows not to push him. "Want to come dig through my fridge or give me an order. It might take me awhile to get home tonight." They come to a halt in front of her building.

"I like him."

"What?"

"The Father. Fitz. I like him. He's good for you. You're good for him. He has sad eyes like you, but when you look at each other it goes away. I like him."

Huck's candor takes Olivia by surprised, but she isn't allotted the chance to answer his words. A familiar face comes into view as she opens the entrance door that leads to the stairs to her apartment.

"Good Golly Miss Molly, is that Olivia Pope?"

"Harrison! How'd you get into my building?" A grin spreads across her face as she looks at him, dressed in a three piece suit; he's clean shaven with a smile that could charm the sandals off Jesus.

"You know me, Liv."

"What are you doing here, I thought I was meeting you in U-Street?"

"I thought I'd swing by and surprise you. Pick you up. Didn't think I'd be picking you up in Anacostia, though."

"I'll be out here if you need me, Liv." Huck backs out of the conversation before Olivia has a chance to rephrase her question about dinner and to further probe him regarding his comments about Fitz.

"Okay…"

Harrison grabs her tote and takes off towards the stairs. "What floor?"

"Third. C."

-x-

An hour later old friends have become reacquainted as they sit on Olivia's couch, foregoing an adventure somewhere out for takeout and a film long abandoned. She's in shorts and a t-shirt, her hair hanging down her back in soft, albeit frizzy, curls.

"Do you remember when your grandfather caught you with that girl...what's was her name, Maria? In his apartment. You were acting like you owned the place. Had Maria believing you were son 17 year old emancipated wiz-kid."

"Maria believed me, too. Had her thinking I was the grandson to the inventor of oil sheen."

They both cackle and Olivia leans forward to grab her wine off the coffee table.

"I can't believe you. Always able to fast talking your way out - or into - anything. God I've missed you. How's California?"

"Hot, overpriced. Nothing like DC." he shrugs before undoing the buttons on his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. "I'm surprised Eli let you skip law school to live here, to work in a school."

"He didn't _let_ me _do_ anything. I chose not to go. It's not where my heart is. I like helping people - I like helping kids."

"So is that why you're here, in Anacostia? He cut you off?"

"Actually, no. He bought me a place in Foggy Bottom I refuse to take. I'm here because I like the area and I can afford the area. I don't need my father."

"You two are just alike, you know that. My gramps tells me you finally got back up to U-Street to see him."

"I did. I hadn't intended on it, but a friend took me up to that new restaurant, Busboys and Poets. We passed Ben's on the way and I somehow convinced him to double back. I hadn't realised I'd been gone so long."

"I used to tell you when we were kids, but between your dad sending you to private school out in McLean and then you just not wanting to hang out with us lowly folk any more…."

She pinches his arm at his insinuation. She'd hated attending Madeira, being secluded away from her friends and the community she'd grown up, but Eli Pope hadn't cared.

"Ow."

"I hated that school."

"I know; remember when me and Abby broke you out?"

At the mention of their the third in their trio, Olivia grins wide; oh Abigail.

"I do because I remember the missing person's report my dad filed and then the cops arresting us for underage drinking."

Her friends had made the forty-five minute drive to break her out of her stifling boarding school just to get caught at a party they shouldn't have been at the tender age of 16.

"Ah, I bet your dad still hates me." Harrison grins, leaning back against her sofa. "So what's this my gramps tells me about you shopping in the old men's department?"

Olivia's brows furrow as she gets up and heads for her kitchenette. She grabs a slice of pizza from the box on the bar and nibbles on it. "What?"

Harrison turns to face her. "He says you're dating some old white guy 'Old enough to be her damn daddy'. That true?"

Ha! She knew it! Fitz and Mr. Gaines had been discussing her, not the menu.

"My dad has at least twenty-five years on him." Olivia defends, affronted. "And your grandfather is nosey."

"So he is older than you...I thought you were out of that phase after what happened?"

Olivia's eyes drop down to the counter in front of her as he subtly refers to a part of her pass she wishes she could forget. A past where a teen girl desperate for male attention had turned herself into Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita.

"It's not like like that with him, at all. And his name's Fitz. We met at work. He's...he's different."

"What happened to white Man Can't Jump?" Harrison continues, turning back around to reach for his own wine glass on the corner of the table.

White Man Can't Jump. The nickname still gets to Olivia. "Jake and I broke up. I wish someone would've told me that that was a bad idea."

"Abby and I both did. Any guy recommend to you by your father...just run, girl."

They share another hearty chuckle as Olivia toys with the toppings on her pizza. She wonders what Fitz's doing at that moment. If he's getting ready for bed or if he's pouring over work things. If he's spoken with the new Father about what the man may have seen.

"I'm serious though, I like this guy. A lot. There's a bit of an issue that we'll have to deal with," she says, minimizing the elephant in the room to a mouse, "but I think we can figure it out."

"You're swooning. You're Olivia Pope and you're swooning. This is...please stop. Bring back the bitter, withdrawn girl who knocked back shots with me on Saturday nights."

She balls up a napkin and tosses it at him. It doesn't hit Harrison, instead, it falls to the floor in a pitiful clump. "She's not coming back. She's taking control of her life and that includes her love life."

"Well, I'm glad; her mother would be proud."

They share a soft gaze and Olivia feels a sob yearning to crack open her chest. A deep breath in, she shoves it down. Each day she copes with the loss of her mom a little better, but some days - some moments - it almost becomes unbearable, as if it were brand new.

The buzz of her cell phone breaks their exchange and Olivia crosses the room to her front door. "Hold that thought." She tells Harrison as she flips the phone open.

A baritone voice that melts her like butter on a hot July day fills her ears. "Hi."

Her response is instantaneous, a smile already on her face. "Hi."

"That's him, isn't it? Ew." Harrison shouts, making kissy noises and mocking Olivia from his perch on her couch.

Olivia's eyes narrow to slits as she searches for something to throw at him with her free, pizza greased hands. She locates a pen from her purse and flings it at Harrison after making certain the cap is on tightly.

"Is that who? Am I him?" Fitz asks her on the other side of the phone. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Yes, well no. My friend I was telling you about? We decided to stay in and he's about to get the boot if he doesn't shut his mouth!" Olivia yells at Harrison before turning her attention back to the phone.

"You weren't lying when you said you two were like siblings. Look, I won't keep you long. I just wanted to call to say good night, Livvie."

She fights not to melt at his words knowing full well Harrison is paying attention to her every move. The fact that Fitz has called just to say good night almost brings her to her knees.

"Night, Fitz…"

"We'll talk tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

The line goes dead as Olivia finds Harrison sighing and fluttering his eyelashes mockingly in her direction. "It's only a day awaaaay." he sings and Olivia again looks for something to throw, wanting to ping him in the head with her phone, but knowing better.

"I hate you."

"But you love you some Fitz."

"That's it." She dives towards him knowing full well Harrison is right.

/

Across town Fitz sits in bed thinking about the woman he'd just hung up with and the summer ahead of him. He can't shake the feeling, however, that it's not all smooth sailing ahead.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: As some of you who follow my other stories or my Twitter already know, I recently lost my mom to her struggle with ESRF. These last three months have been the hardest of my life and most days I don't know how to put one foot in front of the other. But I'm still here. For whatever that's worth. So I just wanted you to know that in case you were thinking I disappeared or abandoned my in progress stories.

I hope you enjoy this update and don't let the somberness of my a/n take away from this chapter. This ends a bit on a cliffhanger and I don't know when I'll be able to update again so don't kill me. Hopefully soon, though.

Also, I love to toy with the fact that KW can sing in RL in my fics.

Happy holidays.

-M

* * *

"Come on old man!" Olivia shouts.

The volleyball sails past Fitz, hitting the sand with a dull thud. He grunts in frustration, blue eyes sparkling against the hot July sun. Sweat builds at his brow and his eyes Olivia with anything but a priestly glance. If she wasn't so damn cute across the net in her white bathing suit, he'd have a few choice words for her right now.

"You calling me old?" he hollers back, tugging on the collar of his t-shirt. He's covered in sweat and really should just take it off, but he's afraid of what someone around him might say. Priests are supposed to be known for their modesty after all, right?

"I am. How else could that awful t-shirt be explained on the beach other than your old man senses? You're dressed for a walk in the park…"

"Hush!" he howls, setting up the ball to serve back to her. He tries to spike it, but for being so tiny, Olivia's a force of nature. She easily hits the ground, covering her glistening dark skin in sand as she sends the ball back over the net.

For fucks sake, how'd she do that?

Fitz sighs as the ball plops down onto the ground next to him. Across the net, Olivia smiles. Her eyes twinkle and she tosses her head back, laughing.

The summer has proven to good to be true for the odd couple. They've spent just about every day since the final bell of St. Gabriel's had rung to signal the end of the school year, with one another. Ice cream dates, talking on the phone, random night walks. Fitz is having the time of his life. Even when she insists on shoving his aging bones in his face.

He picks up the ball and spins it between his palms. "You know, if we were playing basketball or something, I'd have you," he informs her, tossing the ball back over the night.

Again, she sends it right back; it's like she's not even trying.

"No you wouldn't. You might have height on me, but that's about it. I could outrun you for a layup easily," she touts, a frizzy curl swaying in the listless wind. "You're slow."

"You're ruthless," Fitz grunts as he moves to shoot the ball back over again.

"Ambitious, competitive, determined, zealous," Olivia offers as the ball bounces off her fingertips and flutters across the net.

Fitz takes such a light hit as his own signal to muster of the amount of force she's shown and he runs towards the net. He moves to power the ball back across, but a bead of sweat rolls down into his eye. Suddenly he's falling forward, tripping over air. The net folds and his body collides with Olivia's. They land against the warm sand with a harsh 'thunk,'the net the only barrier between their bodies.

"Shit," Fitz moans, watching as the ball plops down next them.

"You could say that again, potty mouth." Olivia whispers from beneath him and he realizes he must be crushing her. Not only is he almost a foot taller than her, but he has to have at least fifty pounds on her, as well.

"Sorry, I didn't — " he moves to shift off of her, but catches sight of her plump lips, her rising breasts pushing against the cups of her bathing suit, and hears her ragged breaths. She brings a thigh up and he falls in between her parted legs.

His body responds accordingly. He's hard in an instant and that sends him scrambling off of Olivia, his cheeks burning red in embarrassment; surely she felt him.

Olivia crawls out from underneath the net. "I'm going to get this sand off me."

 **/**

She refuses to look back at him as she practically runs down to the water. Every inch of her body bubbles with heat; her skin is flush with desire. She'd brought her leg up as a way to leverage her weight and help him up, not to position him between her hips. Her actions while chaste in intent had caused unseemly - yet delicious - consequences.

He wants her just as much as she wants him.

It'd taken everything in Olivia to not attack his mouth right there on sand, to remind herself that he's a priest and still has vows to uphold.

She doesn't even flinch when she hits the freezing water, diving in head first to quench the burn. She pushes her body, swimming out to the buoys before her lungs force her to come up for air. The water's freezing, her teeth are chattering, but she's still unbelievably _hot_.

Fuck; she wants him. She wants him so bad that the fire between her legs can't even be quenched by ice water.

Her eyes drift back to shore as she floats, out of breath. She easily finds Fitz standing at the water's edge. His shirt is off and he's moving swiftly into the water. He stops as it reaches his waist and Olivia's heart stills. Her mouth dries and unconsciously she licks her lips, dragging her bottom lip into her mouth to suppress a moan.

This man is a god; a real life greek statue wading in waist deep water. His chest is chiseled, his abs defined (if she were closer, she'd count them, preferably with her tongue), and his arms toned. Why's he a priest again? Built like that, he should be on display at the MET. He looks as if he could trap her against any surface she suggests with the rigged contours of his body; demand she wrap her supple thighs around his taut core and —

The beach ball bounces off her forehead, knocking her out of her salacious thoughts and back into the present. Her eyes go wide as she regains some semblance of conscious and she turns to see two teens eyeing her with apologetic glances.

"Sorry! Can we have our ball back?"

She takes in a deep breath, hot air expelling from her lungs as she tosses the ball over to the kids and immediately sinks herself beneath the water's surface.

/

It's getting harder and harder to check his libido around Olivia Pope. Whether it's the ten, almost eleven, years in between his last sexual encounter or the simple fact that she's the most tantalizing creature he's ever come into contact with, Olivia is causing him to continue my question his vows of celibacy.

The beach incident had left him in agony, wading in waist deep ice water in hopes of cooling down. Driving back into DC had been nearly impossible with her next to him, skin slick and sparkling.

She's going to kill him. And the worst part about it all is that he doesn't even think she knows just how powerful of an effect she has on him.

Even now as they wade through the thickening crowd of people, in pursuit of a table, he has to force his hands to his side. He wants nothing more than to touch the sliver of brown skin that peeks out from where her tank top parts from her skirt. She's teasing and enticing him and she doesn't even know it. How could she? Her intentions in getting dressed after he'd dropped her at her apartment and fled to the safety of his own more than likely hadn't been to set herself on display for him. The white halter she wore and floor length black maxi skirt that covered her legs weren't begging to be slid down her shoulders and bunched up around her waist while he fucked her against the nearest hard surface and she cried out of his name. No, it was simply a way to fend off the ever stifling heat.

"How about here, Fitz?"

He looks up to see Olivia smiling at him, her curly hair perfectly framing her heart shaped face.

God, he could kiss her right now. Draw her top lip into his mouth and bite down, run his tongue along it to soothe the sting.

"Fitz?"

"Huh?" He asks, shaking his head to clear his un-priestly thoughts. His hormones are running like a fourteen year old boy's and he needs to find a way to get it in check.

"Are you okay tonight?" Olivia questions, pushing a rogue curl out of her eye.

Fitz chuckles awkwardly, ducking his head as a tinge of red coats his cheeks. "I'm fine. I just haven't had this much excitement in one day in a while."

And he isn't lying. They'd been together all summer, but today has pushed him into familiar, yet new territory. He hasn't thought about a woman in _this_ way since Mellie. Sure he's had impure thoughts about Olivia before, but earlier his body had responded in such a visceral way that it almost scared him.

Her raised eyebrow tells Fitz that she isn't quite buying his excuse, but thankfully she doesn't push; instead, she motions to the table they've stopped at not too far from the dance floor, but nearly in front of the stage. A band's setting up and a waitress walks by asking if he wants anything to drink. Fitz declines her offer, opting for a water, but Olivia asks for a Gin Fizz, prompting the waitress to ask for her I.D. Olivia hands over her license without pause, and Fitz is subtly reminded of just how young his date is and how out of his element he might be.

Bike riding, movie watching, and restaurant hopping were a far cry from clubbing. His lust is replaced by insecurity as she gleefully sits. He fumbles into his own, nearly colliding with a passerby on the way to the stage.

"Sorry…" he mumbles as the waitress returns with his water and Olivia's drink.

"Are you really sure you're okay?" Olivia asks, leaning forward on her elbows. The warm light of the club bounces off her bare shoulders and Fitz wonders what it'd be like to press a kiss to her collarbone, hold her hands above her head and —

"Fitz?"

He's all over the map tonight and he has to shake his head to pop back into the moment. He hones in on her face, refusing to pay attention to just how loose, yet snug her top fits and the lack of bra straps underneath. "I'm fine, Liv. So, this is clubbing, huh?"

She laughs at his question and Fitz's brows furrow. "What'd I say?"

"Nothing, you're just cute; but this isn't clubbing. This is more of a lounge with live music than a club type of thing." She sips on her drink and glances over her shoulder. "Want to show me those dance moves from school out on the floor?"

His eyes flit about the crowd and he doesn't need glasses to know that he's probably the oldest and _whitest_ person here. She can't be serious.

"I don't know the song," he tells her. "Or this type of dance." His eyes fall on the couple wrapped around each other.

"Fi—"

"Liv!"

Their conversation is interrupted by a guy Fitz doesn't recognise, a guy that Olivia clearly knows because as recognition dawns across her face, she stands and hugs him. Fitz nostrils flare, his fingers flex, and heat rises up his chest as he watches the two embrace. The man's hands land on Olivia's waist as they pull back to stare at one another and Fitz clears his throat to get their attention.

"Oh, Marcus! This is my date, Fitz. Fitz this is Marcus."

Marcus holds out his hand and Fitz shakes it.

"Good to meet you, man," Marcus tells him, "any friend of Liv's is a friend of mine."

"Likewise," Fitz says, but he can't help the jealousy that causes him to squeeze Marcus's hand a little too hard before letting go. Marcus slips his hands into his pockets and then turns back to Olivia.

"Came to see the show tonight?"

"I did! I heard you were playing and thought I'd drop-in. Plus, Fitz promised me a dance ages ago so I'm cashing in tonight."

Marcus's eyes land on Fitz and Fitz can see the skepticism in the other man's eyes. He feels it in his bones, too. Him, on that dance floor with her? Ha! But if this is what Marcus is thinking, he keeps his words to himself, and simply nods.

"Hey, look, we're gonna be hitting the stage in about ten. What would it take to get you up there with me?"

What? Fitz's brows quirk upwards and he looks at Olivia. She grins and ducks her head low, shaking her curls no before speaking. "I can't."

"You can and you have before. What's stopping you tonight?" Marcus asks and Fitz's curiosity is too strong to cap.

He knows Olivia is woman of many talents, and he's heard her hum a melody or two before, but he is curious to hear her belt out a full song now. Fitz leans forward on his elbows, a grin on his face. "Yeah, Livvie, what's stopping you tonight?"

Marcus smirks and winks at Fitz, clicking his tongue. "See, even your man agrees. Come on."

Olivia tilts her head, narrowing her eyes at Fitz. "I don't think so. I'm merely a spectator tonight. Okay. I'm going to sit down, listen to _you_ sing, and sip my drink. Maybe me and my _man_ can take a twirl or two on the dance floor. Thanks, but no thanks, Marcus," she declines, slipping back into her seat. Marcus holds his hands up in surrender before walking off.

But Fitz isn't so easily deterred. He's eager to pull back yet another layer of the woman in front of him. Besides, it'll give him something else to do besides be overwrought with a strange mixture of insecurity and lust.

"So you sing?" he asks, taking a long drink from his glass. "I'd like to hear you one of these days."

"And I'd like for Marcus to learn to be quiet, but here we are." She shoots back, fiddling with the straw in her glass.

He chuckles, finding the venom she's spitting endearing rather than poisonous. Plus, he can tell by the swell of her cheeks, she's simply joking.

"Do you sing often? How do you know Marcus?"

"We dated."

The jealousy blooms in his stomach and he sucks his teeth, trying not to show he's visibly annoyed by the fact. "Oh?"

"Down boy." Olivia smirks. "It was for a summer ages ago; we went to the same college. We did Acapella together."

"Who broke it off?" Fitz pushes, the words coming out of his mouth before he can stop them. It's none of his business, truly. She's young and beautiful. Of course she has past lovers.

"It was mutual, nosey. We realised we're too much alike. Plus, he snores." She shrugs.

Fitz's eyes slide towards the stage and he catches Marcus setting up a microphone. Marcus is good looking, clearly the same age as Olivia, probably someone she could easily walk around with without being stared at. They obviously have the same interests.

"What about you? I know you were married and now you've got the whole married to God thing going on, but was there ever anyone else?"

"No," he answers immediately, a pang of guilt reverberating in his belly. He's playing with different types of fire here. He's liable to get burned, liable to burn her, yet he can't walk away. "No. Not before and there hasn't been anyone else I've wanted until...you." He's honest with her and he can tell she's taken back slightly. Her bottom lip pops open and her doe eyes widen.

Whatever she's about to say, if she's about to say anything, though, is left unspoken. Marcus's band begins to play. The music is smooth, soft and simple; melodious as it fills the air and Marcus begins to sing. Olivia breaks their gaze and turns her attention towards the stage.

/

Must he always be so intense?

She simultaneously hates and loves it when he looks at her this way. Her eyes might be on the stage, but her attention is on him. As is his on her. She's been trying - and failing - to calm down all day, to quell the part of her that wants to pounce him and has since they hit the beach.

When they'd parted ways at her apartment to prepare for their night, she'd stood under an ice cold spray hoping that'd stop her deviant thoughts. And when that didn't work, she'd pulled out her vibrator.

But she has neither of those things right now as she sits across from him, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

He's still staring at her and she just wants him to _stop,_ right now before she reaches over the table and kisses him silly.

On stage Marcus croons into the microphone, singing a gender bent cover of Alicia Key's 'You Don't Know My Name.' Olivia tries to hone in on the words, listen to Marcus's voice; he always was one of the best in the acapella group. But it doesn't last long. Her eyes slide back towards Fitz and he's still looking at her, the Superman curl perfectly coiffed against his forehead.

"Dance with me? Olivia asks, needing a reason for him to hold her close, to be in his arms.

"Out there?" He raises both of his eyebrows and Olivia nods.

"Where else?"

"I don't know…"

"You said you would."

"Yeah a month ago…"

Unwilling to take no for an answer, Olivia rises to her feet and gravitates to the dance floor, a little extra sway in her hips as she goes. Only a few seconds pass before she's approached by a tall-ish guy, slim. He asks if she wants to dance, but before she has a chance to decline, Fitz declines for her. He spins her in place and wraps an arm around her waist.

Olivia's heart flutters in her chest and she relaxes into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her top rides up and his thumbs find the newly exposed skin. She shivers, chills going up her spine and together they lazily sway to the beat.

"So that's all it takes, huh? Make you jealous then you come running like Fred Astaire?"

"What do you know about Fred Astaire?" Fitz asks, his breath warm against her cheek. She feels his right hand slide up to rest on the small of her back, and he pulls her closer so that she's flush against his chest. Her breasts strain against the thin cotton blend of her top, brushing against his chest.

"A lot actually. My mom loved old Hollywood. Plus, they taught me one of life's great lessons."

"Mhmm, and what would that be?" he asked, his smiling nearly making her sink to the floor. It was perfectly imperfect, crooked and boyish.

"That women will have to spend their lives doing everything men do, usually backwards while in high heels and still not get an ounce of the respect."

"You're right," Fitz agreed.

Olivia quirked an eyebrow, thoroughly impressed. She sighed contently, locking eyes with Fitz.

The soft hum of the music lulled their bodies to and fro and they relaxed into each other. Wanting to test her boundaries, Olivia licked her lips, pressing a somewhat chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Fitz chuckled breathily, tilting his head and brushing his lips against hers. God, he's killing her. Does he even know how intoxicating he is? She just wants to fall into him and never find a way out.

She closes her eyes, her lips taking on a mind of her own as she chases his. She pulls his bottom lip into her mouth, her fingers finding and tugging at the curls at the nape of his neck. He moans and she feels his arms tighten around her, pulling her close, bunching up the material of her top and they're both so far gone that it takes them both a long minute to realise that Marcus is calling her name over the microphone.

"Olivia, Olivia Pope, I know you're still here. Get up here…"

They break apart and Olivia's head tilts towards the stage. Marcus is looking out at the crowd.

"Come on, Liv; get up here. You really thought I was going to let you say no that easily?" he asks and Olivia narrows her eyes.

"Olivia...there she, oh, goes…" There's a light on them and a few people clap.

Sheepishly Olivia unwraps herself from around Fitz as he scrambles to do the same.

"There she is. A little too cozy. Hate to break up your little love-fest out there, but I told you to get up here. See," Marcus talks to the crowd, "Liv here has one of the best voices I've heard...outside of mine that is. Y'all help me get her out here for a duet."

More whistles and claps follow Marcus's words and Olivia shakes her head.

"I couldn't. I can't...nope," she yells back at Marcus.

A flush faced Fitz nudges her shoulder with his elbow, though. Redness creeps up his neck and he looks embarrassed, though he's pushing through it.

"For me, Liv?" he asks.

Again he gives her that stupid smile and Olivia sighs. She shakes her head and dramatically tosses her hands in air. "Fine. For you."

/

Another layer of Olivia Pope is revealed to Fitz as she takes the stage. She shoves Marcus playfully as a stagehand brings out another microphone. He sets it up for Olivia and she steps up to the mic.

"I hate Marcus, just so you all know," she tells the room soliciting laughter from the crowd.

She's magic up there, taking to the spotlight easily. Fitz makes his way back to his seat and watches in rapt fascination, thankful to have distance between them. Moments ago he'd been so close to crossing the line, right there on the dance floor.

He has to pull himself together.

The slow strum of a guitar starts, Olivia and Marcus snap their fingers and a beat passes before she starts to sing.

 _Now the skies could fall_

 _Not even if my boss should call_

 _The world is seems so very small_

 _Cause nothing even matters, at all_

 _See nothing even matters_

 _See nothing even matters at all_

 _Nothing even matters at all…_

He hears angels sing.

Her voice is velvet, warm cotton straight from the dryer, a breezy summer day, and another facet of her he can - and desperately wants to - get lost in. He doesn't even realize it's a duet - all that matters is Olivia. She might as well be up there alone, singing softly into the mic. Her eyes are closed and she looks at peace.

 _These buildings could drift out to sea_

 _Some natural catastrophe_

 _Still there's no place I'd rather be_

 _'Cause nothing even matters to me_

He might just be falling in love with Olivia Pope.

/

"You were amazing up there," Fitz tells her as they reach her apartment door. He's still in awe, her voice is on an endless loop in his head. "Did you and Marcus write that song?"

Olivia laughs. "No, it's a Lauryn Hill song. A duet with D'Angelo and you probably have no idea who I'm talking about."

"Lauryn Hill? She was in that movie with Whoopi Goldberg and does that song with the Fijis."

Again, Olivia laughs. "Fugees, but that'd be her."

"See, I'm cool. I pay attention to the kids," he jokes as she slips her key into the top lock and then the bottom, popping her door open. "You really were amazing up there tonight."

This is where they bid farewell and make plans and promises for tomorrow and the next day. He moves to kiss her goodnight, but she dodges the kiss. His lips fall against her cheek and he pulls back, confused.

Olivia holds onto the door handle, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth and her doe eyes sparkling against the hall light. "Don't do that," she whispers, tucking a curl behind her ear. "If you do that, I'm going to ask you to come inside and stay the night. And we both know why we can't."

The air around them is charged, thick and heavy, just in need of a simple spark to ignite the passion that lingers between them. Fitz works a hand over his face. One by one her words hit him.

 _Come inside._

 _Stay the night._

 _We can't._

 _Stay the night._

 _Come inside. Stay the night. We both know why we can't. Come inside..._

He can't...he's made vows. He's a man of God. He's…

He's a _man_ and the flesh is weak.

His mouth is on hers in an instant. Their kiss is frenzied and frantic, the tension between them imploding. Together they fumble through the door, kicking it closed behind them.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Yes this is an update!

Thank you to everyone who's given me their condolences regarding my mother. Much appreciated and accepted. Here's my way to say thank you.

This whole chapter is rated M (yes, y'all finally got your wish!).

Merry Christmas and 'see' you all next year.

* * *

The small table near her front door that holds her keys and mail becomes a casualty of their passion. They knock it over with little to no acknowledgement before running into her bookshelf. Various titles fall to the floor as they fumble their way around the room. Olivia pulls at his belt and he nips at her neck, his large hands palming her ass and soliciting a soft moan from her swollen lips. They trip over each other, stumble into everything on their way to the couch, including the lamp that rests on a side table; it falls to the floor with a crash, shattering. Olivia lands on her back, Fitz falling on top of her. She giggles, heat creeping up her cheeks before his lips smash against her once more. His hands slide up her thighs, bunching up her skirt as he settles in between her legs and her hands find his hair, tugging on his curls. When he hisses against her mouth at the pull, she smiles against his lips.

God, he's everything she's ever imagined so far; overwhelming, rough, gentle, and _passionate._ It's been so long since her body has responded so readily to another's - if ever. Her list of past lovers is long, but the list of satisfied experiences from them is short. Most seemed intent on jumping straight to penetration. But not Fitz, while they're both _so damn eager_ he seems to be enjoying just touching her.

His teeth tug at her bottom lip, biting down; her eyes pop open at the mix of pleasure and pain. Both of his hands palm her breasts through the nylon of her top and she arches into his touch, breathing heavily. He's giving her no space at all as he bends her body to his will. His tongue plunges into her mouth and she groans, fingers biting into the unyielding muscles of his strong shoulders. He's a contradiction of textures hovering above her. His lips are soft, but his kiss is hard and demanding; there's a slight stubble to his chin, barely noticeable, but itchy against her mouth nonetheless; his palms are smooth as they run across the bit of her belly that's exposed, but his hips...lord she just might die from the delicious pressure they're exerting on her. She can't breathe as he presses her into the couch. Instinctively her legs try to wrap around his waist, but she only succeeds in getting the left one up, her thigh dangling over his hip, her heel digging into his thigh. Her skirt has ridden up and the only thing between them and his twitching arousal is the fabric of his pants and her increasingly wet silk underwear. He sucks on her tongue and she moans into his mouth; if they keep this up she's going to come. Right here, like this.

"Fitz…" It's the first words she's managed to struggle out, the first sound to fill the room outside of her moans. "Want you...inside of me." She's breathless, sinking, falling, plunging into the darkness and over the edge; carried by nothing and no one, only him.

Her heart beats hard against her chest, pounding so hard that it blocks out all other sounds besides his ragged breath. It's just them in this moment; the worlds shrank down to what little space exists between them.

His fingers reach for the band of her underwear, her breath hitches in anticipation. This moment has been a long time coming, a long time in progress.

"Livvie…" he growls against her mouth. This is it. This is…

Over.

Her front door bangs open and before she even knows what's going on and can even assess the situation, the warmth of Fitz's body disappears. Again, in the few short months they've been doing this thing together, he's on the floor with Huck's knee in his back.

 _Fuck!_

"HUCK! GET OFF OF HIM! STOP, NOW!" She demands, jumping to her feet and shoving at Huck's shoulders. It's stupid to attack a man with PTSD but she doesn't know any other way to get his attention. "GET OFF!"

Anger and frustration rolls off of her in large waves as Huck let's go. She rushes to Fitz's side, happy to see that he's in one piece. He's beat red and more than likely embarrassed as hell, but there's no blood on his face. His pants are still tinted, his erection clearly there, and Olivia helps him to his feet.  
"You okay, baby?" she asks, touching his cheek.

Fitz throws her his signature lopsided grin, that damn Superman curl draped against his forehead. The rest of his hair sticks up in all directions and his belt buckle is undone. Her lipstick is smeared across his mouth, cheeks, and chin.

"I'm fine, Livvie. I promise. A little caught off guard, but fine." He reassures.

Olivia smooths down her skirt, and pulls down her top. The discomfort between her legs is stifling and it takes her a minute to catch her breathe before she rounds on Huck. He stands off to the side sheepishly and Olivia just sees red.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she shouts. "I gave you that key for emergencies! Not to use whenever you feel like it!"

"Your downstairs neighbor said she heard things breaking up here and I was worried that...that…."

"That what?"

"That he was hurting you. I knocked and I just heard you yell. I don't know. I... I'm sorry, Liv."

"I'd never," Fitz interjects.

"We were having sex, Huck." Olivia explains. Any inclination she has, to be embarrassed is smothered by her frustration at this entire situation.

"Oh." Huck looks visibly uncomfortable with this new piece of information and his cheeks tint pink.

"Damn it, Huck! Put your key on the kitchen counter and get out."

"I'm sorry, Liv."

"OUT!"

Huck does as he's told and the door falls shut behind him.

Olivia sighs in frustration, gritting her teeth at the intrusion, and wanting to scream. She locks her door and puts the chain on, trying to calm down, but it's nearly impossible. She's so damn frustrated, worked up, and worried.

She turns to find Fitz fixing his belt and her stomach sinks. They crossed a line she's been painfully toeing for months tonight and he's probably about to walk away; take Huck's intrusion as divine intervention and go.

 _Stupid, stupid, Olivia._

"I'm so sorry, Fitz. I didn't expect - I didn't…" she starts, sheepish. "Please don't leave," she continues, unafraid to beg because she knows if he walks out tonight, this thing between them just might be over.

 _Please just stay._

/

She's fucking sin. It's written all over her face and etched into the curves of her body. The same body he'd had beneath his fingertips what now seemed like months ago not moments. She'd been so pliable, so responsive, and he'd been gone. So far over the edge with her that he didn't think he'd ever come out. But this is his chance, his lone shot to redeem himself. He needs to walk out and away from her tonight. He needs to stop thinking about the curve of her spine, the way her fingers splayed against his shoulders, how heavenly it felt to sink between her thighs. He's prayed to many altars, but the space between her legs has somehow felt the holiest.

"I can't have sex with you," he tells her and Olivia's face falls, disappointment contorts her delicate features.

"I understand. I'm sorry I jumped you. I guess it's good that Huck came in when he did," she agrees.

But she doesn't understand. He's thankful that Huck had intervened, too, though not for the reasons he seems she's assuming.

While he knows, he should walk away from this and from her if he wants to keep all his vows to God, he also knows that the last time he'd tried to walk away from her barely having known her, made him miserable. This time it just might kill him. She's intoxicating and he finds himself waiting for her, watching for her. Every emotion in his body is controlled by the look on her face.

"You didn't jump me, Liv...it was mutual," he corrected with a chuckle. "And you're not understanding me. I'm glad Huck came in, but not because I don't want you. I'm glad he came in because I don't want to dry hump you on a couch, Liv."

He crosses the distance between them, seizing her chin between his hands, his thumbs caress her lips and he smiles at the sparkle in her eyes. "I want to make love to you, in a bed. Lay you out beneath me, learn every inch of your body, touch every surface of exposed skin. I want to see you when you come, hold you while you shake."

She closes her eyes and shudders in his hold. "I want that, too, but Fitz your oath or vow or whatever...we shouldn't."

"God will forgive me, Livvie, but I won't forgive myself if I walk away from you tonight. I can't walk away from you, I've tried." He leans down to kiss her, his movements tentative at first, worry fluttering about in his belly that she'll refuse him. When she doesn't move, he deepens the kiss. Her mouth is warm, easily pliable, sweet, soft, and perfect. There's still a touch of gin on her tongue and he'd be perfectly content to drown in her right here. There's no guilt, no remorse as he surrenders to the pull between them and Olivia does the same.

She places her hands over his, tugs them from her cheeks, and leads him towards her bedroom. Fitz follows, their eyes never parting as their hands do once they reach her bedroom, and she turns the light on, bathing the room in a warm glow. The bed is perfectly made, the comforter cream just like the rest of the decor in her home. His eyes sweep around the room once before landing on her again.

 _She's perfect._

His fingers flex in her direction, but he stays put, content to just watch her. And what a sight she is. Olivia seizes the string around her neck that holds her top in place and tugs on it. The bow unravels and she turns away, slipping it over her head; she isn't wearing a bra. Her back is smooth, there's a mole just above the curve of her ass. He has the sudden urge to bite her, to consume her whole, but again stays put. Even as she slides her skirt down her hips and lets it falls to the floor and then steps out of it. A pair of silk underwear cover her plump behind, her thighs are thick and shapely. He's ready to pounce; eagerness propelling him forward. She hooks her fingers around the band of her underwear, ready to drag them down her legs, but Fitz stops her. He pulls her against his chest, runs a palm across her stomach, lets his fingers dance up her side, and sinks his teeth into her shoulder.

"You are so beautiful, Livvie."

"You sure you can stay the night?" she whispers, her head falling against his chest and he peeks over her shoulder to find her pert breasts heaving as she fights to breathe.

"You ask me that _after_ you take off your clothes?" He chuckles lowly and spins her in place.

Her breasts smash against his chest and her hands runs over his ass. "I had to ask."

Fitz nods, understanding her concern, but there's no way he's leaving. Her lips find his and she draws him down onto the bed, rolling suggestively onto her back, their mouths still locked in a sensual dance. Propping himself up over her, Fitz deepens the kiss, his tongue dipping between her lips and tasting her. Sometimes he presses his mouth down hard on hers and then at other's he would retreat, forcing her to chase him. His left hand slips down her side, to her right breast, and he caresses the supple flesh, running a thumb over her nipple, and feeling their weight in his hand. He's rewarded with a soft moan, the amount of control he has over his body slipping as she whimpers against his mouth. Arousal raging, Fitz shifts his weight over her and uses his leg to gently spread hers to make room for him. His lips dip low, wrapping around her breast, kissing and sucking gently. She gasps beneath him, her slender fingers yanking on his curls, and her body writhing.

Outside thunder cracks the air and rain starts to pound against Olivia's bedroom window. Fitz's mouth abandons her breast, traveling up her clavicle and then coasting up her neck until he reaches her ear.

"I've been thinking about you like this all day, since we collided at the beach."

"I've been thinking about you like this since we met."

He laughs at her confession.

That's all the encouragement Fitz needs to hear. In a heartbeat, he pulls the white polo over his head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Olivia whimpers and whispers, arching her back and pressing against his bare chest. Her hands slip in between them and she makes quick work of his belt, shoving at his pants. He groans as her delicate hand brushes against his erection.

Pulling back slightly, Fitz drops his hands to the band of her underwear. His thick fingers pull the silk down her hips and over her supple thighs. "You're so beautiful, Livvie."

Though he can't see the red in her cheeks, he can tell she's blushing; he is too. Unceremoniously he drops her underwear to the floor and lets his pants and boxers follow suit. His hands drop to her smooth legs and he runs his fingers up their length, caressing every inch. Her breaths become ragged as he draws closer to her core. His eyes drift lazily over her body, admiring the dips and curves, noticing a small scar on her right side just above her hip. It's a mar on her perfect skin - an imperfection - and it couldn't be more beautiful.

"Appendectomy…" she breathes out as he traces it with a finger.

Her fingers find his shoulders, urging him upward and she whispers a sensuous invitation for him to enter her, her teeth grazing his earlobe.

Blood thumps heavily in Fitz's ears, and he gently refuses.

"Fitz…"

"Shhh," he murmurs, rolling off her and laying down beside her to stifle the temptation that comes with resting between her legs

What a fucking time to hit him that he hasn't done this in _ten_ years.

"Are you changing your mind?" She asks, the disappointment in her voice heavy.

"No, not at all," he replies, his warm mouth finding her neck, relishing the sensitive skin there as she squirms ever so slightly. "It's just...I'm afraid if I go inside you right now, I'll…." he confesses.

"Oh. _Oh,"_ realization dawns in her tone. "We can stop, Fitz. We can."

"No. We can't just stop." He touches her intimately then, and a small cry of pleasure escapes her lips. Her bottom lip pops open and her face contorts, brows furrowing, and breasts heaving.

"That feel good?" Fitz asks hoarsely, his talented fingers teasing her. He keeps his eyes locked on her face, ignoring the doubt swirling in his own head. He's done this before. It's just been a while and from the way she's moving, he's still as capable a ever.

Olivia doesn't answer his question, but she doesn't need to either. He can tell from the rhythmic motion of her hips against his hand that he's making her feel good. He kisses her sweetly, fascinated by the quiet sensual noises she's making. She's velvet beneath his touch, his fingers effortlessly sliding around as he learns her pleasure points. Her back bucks when he curves his fingers, she nearly cries when he presses his thumb down on her clit.

 _She's so fucking perfect_. And close.

Fitz removes his hand and settles back over her once again, his body quakes with need. Supporting his weight on one hand, he guides himself into her opening. Her hands fall to his arms, her nails cutting into his skin.

She lifts her legs to wrap around his waist, urging him in deeper; he slides in deep, so deep inside her that it stuns them both. She's on hot, wet, and so tight around him that he nearly explodes.

"Fitz…"

He swallows his name as it comes off her tongue, pressing his mouth against hers. He concentrates, giving himself a second until he feels confident enough to move without making a fool of himself.

Olivia hums into his mouth and slowly he begins to move. He thrusts in and out slowly, his face falling to her neck as he shifts focus to the delicious sensations raging throughout his body. Afraid of smothering her, he tries to shift his weight onto his elbows, but Olivia stops him. She locks her legs around his waist, her hands splay against his shoulders.

Above her, his entire body smolders, his nerve endings tingle, driving him toward fulfillment. He's not going to last much longer, but he's determined to give her what she needs.

"What do you need, Liv? What do you want?" He rasps hoarsely against her cheek, trying his hardest to find her sweet spot.

"Don't stop. Harder. There, oh god right there," she requests.

Fitz does his best to obey, pounding into her, bringing her hips off the bed. Her headboard bangs against the wall, the bed creaks beneath them, the comforter and fitted sheets pull away from the corners and he keeps going. Harder and harder until she screams his name, her nails rake down his back, and she trembles. Her body convulses beneath his, and her head thrashes around on the pillow.

"Livvie!" he grunts, her orgasm triggering his. Pinpricks of color flash in front of his eyes as he slams into her roughly, thrust deep inside, and holds himself there, spilling inside of her.

Outside the rain pounds against the window and lightning strikes brighten the night sky.

/

She's never had sex like this before.

It's the only thought she can manage as she rests her head against Fitz's chest. He runs a lazy hand up her spine and she shivers in his hold. They lay tucked together beneath her rumpled comforter, all the semantics settled (she's reassured him that she's on birth control and her thighs are no longer sticky). Her fingers gently stroke the fine hair on his stomach, his slick skin warm against her cheek.

The high he has her on right now is something she's never experienced. Her orgasm had been so intense and all-consuming that she'd felt tears prick her eyes, her teeth break skin, and her heart skip several beats.

The reaction her body had to his is beyond her comprehension. Olivia's never felt anything like this before; never been touched and teased, bent and filled the way he's just done. He'd asked her what she wanted and was anything but a selfish lover.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Fitz asks, her baritone voice shaking his stomach.

"They're worth much more than that," Olivia responds, placing a kiss against his chest. "Are you sure it's been ten years?"

Fitz chuckles and she doesn't have to look up to know that he's beat red. "I'm sure…"

"You could've fooled me. That was…incredible."

He strokes her frizzy curls, and Olivia swears she can feel his chest swell with pride. Usually she isn't one to stroke an ego post-coitus, but he more than earned her praise.

"Keep giving me compliments like this and we may never leave this bed again."

"Promise?" She questions sluggishly, the rise and fall of his chest lulling her to sleep, contradicting her words. "I might fall asleep on you."

"I might fall asleep in your bed."

They share a laugh as Olivia's eyes start to flutter closed.

"Rest," Fitz commands, pressing a tender kiss to forehead.

It dawns on her as a flash of lightning brightens her bedroom and then fades away. She's never had sex like this before because what they just did isn't sex. For the first time in her life, she's made love; she's had love made to her.

Her arm tightens around him and she nuzzles into his chest.

She's falling in love with Fitzgerald Grant.

/

They make love twice more before morning breaks. He pushes her body over the edge with his mouth, nimble fingers, and languid thrusts. When she wakes the next morning she's snug against his granite chest, both of his arms keeping her in place. There's a delicious ache between her legs and her muscles are tender and sore. She wonders what it'd take to get him into a warm shower with her later.

Careful not to jostle Fitz, she extricates herself from his hold, padding over to her dresser in search of clothes. Somewhere in the night her air conditioner had gone from comfortable to artic. She pulls on a pair of panties, an old t-shirt nightgown, and pulls her frizzy curls into a low ponytail. In the time it takes her to cross the room and pull on clothes, Fitz rolls over onto his stomach. Ugly red scratch marks dance up and down his back, popping against his bright skin; Olivia winces.

 _Oops._

She's just about to crawl back into bed and apologize for using him as a human scratching post by pressing kisses against skin when she hears a knock on her door. Making sure her nightgown is long enough to be considered modest, Olivia paddles out to her door. She expects to find an apologetic Huck on the other end of her peephole, but it isn't him.

Confusion crosses her face, her brows furrowing together and she undoes the locks on her door, silently praying Fitz is a sound sleeper, and her visitor won't be long.

She swings the door open, not even able to force a smile on her face. "Dad, what are you doing here?"


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: You have my girl Trinidas to thank for this update and also that heartbreakingly beautiful Olitz scene from last Thursday (even though canon Olivia doesn't deserve Fitz at all).

This chapter picks up from where we left off and we learn a little about Olivia's past and we see just how sprung Fitz is. Thank you all for your kind words regarding my mom. They're greatly appreciated.

Til next time.

-M

* * *

"Is that how you greet your dear old dad?" Eli Pope asks, stepping past Olivia and into her apartment, carrying a plastic tote.

"If I'd known you were coming, I—"

"It's July 15th, Olivia. You were supposed to come to me."

 _July 15th? Shit._

"Oh." Her brows knit together and she leans on her heels. A pang of guilt jilts up her spine and she frowns slightly. She forgot. How had she forgotten the date? Twelve years and she'd never forgotten, not once; not even when she was at boarding school.

"You forgot?" Eli asks, as he steps into the apartment, bemusement lacing his tone. He walks over to the island that separates her kitchen from the living room to deposit the bag. "But perhaps with good reason. Olivia, are you hurt?"

"Am I what?" Confusion colors her expression as she shuts the door, hands going to her messy hair and fiddling with the hem of her night shirt. Last night's escapades are written all over every inch of her body. She turns to find Eli standing above a shattered lamp and she gasps. For the first time since last night, when she'd damn near dry humped Fitz on her couch, she surveys the mess they'd made of her apartment.

The lamp on the end table next to her sofa rests in piece on her floor; a stack of books knocked from their shelves litter the floor; the fresh flowers that normally sit on her coffee table are tipped over, water drips onto her carpet, and her couch cushions and pillows are disheveled. All and all, to the naked and unknowing eye, her apartment shows signs of a struggle, not that of a year of pent up passion imploding. No wonder why Huck had burst in; her apartment looked like a crime scene.

"I told you about this neighborhood, Olivia. Are you hurt? Was anything taken? What is the point of that guard dog you have out there if he can't prevent this?" Eli questions, throwing his hands up in the air. "For god sakes, when are you going to stop playing martyr? You own an apartment in Foggy Bottom - a nice luxurious loft in walking distance of Georgetown. When you start law school you'll need it instead of making the trek from this...place." Disdain drips from his tone.

Olivia rolls her eyes, a headache budding. This is definitely not how she pictured her morning going, not after last night. How can she get rid of her father?

"No, _you_ own an apartment in Foggy Bottom. I _rent_ this and I _teach_."

"Yes, the fresh air fund kids. When will you stop playing with them and start living up to your potential?"

Frustrated, Olivia runs a hand over her face, sighing. This is a constant conversation between them. "Do we really have to do this today, dad? You even said it yourself, it's July 15th."

"You fail to show at our scheduled time, I call you several times, and when I receive only radio silence, I rush over here to make certain you're in one piece to find your apartment trashed. Imagine being in my shoes right now, Olivia; my only child missing on the day we spend together without hesitation every year. So, excuse me if I question your decisions when I've been going out of my mind with worry."

Olivia sighs, her eyes dropping to the floor. Guilt ricochets up her spine. "I'm sorry."

Eli's face softens. "It's fine. Have you filed a report with the police?"

"A what?" Confusion colors her countenance.

"A police report. What was taken? Anything of irreplaceable value? I can call Lou down at the station and see if he can get the ball rolling and we can get your things back before they're gone for good."

Understanding dawns in her eyes and she nods, briefly glancing towards her bedroom before turning her attention back to her father. Silently she prays Fitz is a heavy sleeper. Explaining her sexual proclivities to her father isn't exactly on her agenda for the day.

"They took some petty cash, it's nothing to worry about," Olivia lies. "It's fine, nothing that can't be replaced."

"Petty cash and they trash your home, but it's fine? How naive can you be? What happens when they decide to upgrade next time from petty cash to something else?"

"It's fine!" Olivia snaps, voice raising, a finality to her tone that she isn't used to taking with her father.

Eli seems taken aback; his head tilts and he looks at his daughter as if she's lost her mind.

"Dad, I mean…" she fumbles with her words, wondering if she should apologise. She isn't sorry; Eli Pope needs to learn when not to push, but she isn't looking for an argument right now either.

Olivia doesn't have to make that decision, though, because Eli's attention is no longer on her, but directed behind her. She turns to find a shirtless Fitz standing in the entryway to the hall that leads to her bedroom. A litany of hickies trail his torso and his hair is still mussed.

"I heard raised voices," Fitz offers. "I'm...I uhm."

A redness creeps up his neck and Olivia can feel heat ripple across her own cheeks. Her eyes drop to the floor. Silence fills the room.

Eli breaks the inadvertent standoff first. He clears his throat. "I'll be back in an hour, Olivia. See to it that you're ready. Breakfast is in the bag. We'll stop for flowers on our way up to the cemetery."

He keeps his head down as he exits the apartment, closing the door shut behind him.

/

The door clicks shut behind the older man and Olivia immediately locks it. Fitz stands awkwardly off to the side, his eyes following her as she pushes away from the door.

"That was just...oh my god," she cries, walking over to the bar. She props her elbows up and hides her face in her hands.

Fitz can feel a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. It's not the right time to realise how cute she is, but she is. Hair sticking up in each direction, wrinkled nightshirt, and chubby thighs. He cleared his throat. "I don't think that was your neighbor?"

She shakes her head. "That was my dad."

Awkward, though Fitz had assumed as much. Either her father or a very disgruntled neighbor.

"I figured. I should get dressed. You should, too. He's going to be back in an hour."

"He thought I was robbed," mirthlessly laughter falls from her lips.

"He what?"

"We destroyed my apartment." Olivia motions towards the living room.

Fitz looks out into the living room, eyebrows raising as he takes in the damage they've done. There's a broken lamp, a disheveled couch, a tipped over vase, and tossed books.

"Wow." He breathes, a smirk tilts across his lips. "I see why Huck kicked down your door. I, uhm...I didn't hurt you at all did I?"

"Stop looking for me to fluff your ego even more." Olivia turns, leaning against the counter. A matching smirk teases her lips.

Fitz knows they have mere minutes before her father returns, but he can't stop his eyes as they roam her body. He remembers every gasp, sigh, and delicious moan that'd slipped from Olivia's lips throughout the night. Every furrow of her brow, tremble of her lip, and quiver of her stomach as she came. His hands twitch at his sides and he moves without thinking. He swoops Olivia into his arms and positions her on the counter, causing her to yelp. He comes to happily rest in between her parted legs, his hands slipping beneath the hem of her shirt and caressing the smooth skin of her upper thighs.

Olivia shudders beneath his touch, her eyes slipping closed. Unable to stop himself, Fitz's mouth seeks out hers. Her mouth pops open and he slides his tongue against hers.

This is how he dies; holding onto her for dear life.

His lips move down onto her neck, hands gripping her legs to pull her towards him. She hums as he works his way down her collarbone, his teeth nipping at her flesh. Her hands hold his head, her fingers pull at his curls. Fitz smiles as he moves lower, ghosting over her breasts through the material of her t-shirt before sliding down onto his knees.

He forgets that she's on a time limit and that he should _really_ be going.

One leg goes over his shoulder and he kisses his way up her thighs, pushing up her shirt. Olivia leans back on her forearms, watching him through hooded eyes, her lips glistening in the dull sunlight that peaks through her front window. What a sight she is, too. Pure lust on display. Those lips, her thighs, and her erect nipples poking against the cotton of her shirt. He wants nothing more than to rip the material over her head and have his way with her right here. And he almost does, too, until his lips ghost over her panty-clad center, her hips buck, and the bag of food next to her tumbles to the floor.

Styrofoam containers of pancakes spill out, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Olivia pushes Fitz away, hoping down off the counter.

"Shit," she mutters, clearly flustered.

Fitz is in his own daze as tries to settle the growing - almost painful - erection between his legs. They'd spent all night and well into the morning tasting, touching, and teasing one another, but he _just can't stop._ He's forty-one years-old. Even with a ten year break, he shouldn't be this insatiable. Should he? But this woman - Olivia - just does something to him.

"I'm going to need an insurance policy for the next time you spend the night - and morning," she jokes, throwing the containers onto the table.

"Sorry, I just...I _want_ you," Fitz confesses. A flash of her bare back crosses his mind and his nostrils flare.

This is ridiculous. He's _forty._ He's _over_ forty.

"I want you, too," Olivia admits, her eyes falling to the floor.

Fitz takes that as his signal to move forward, but Olivia steps back. She extends an arm, holding her hand out to signal him to stop. "We can't though. I have somewhere I have to go and my dad will be back soon. As much as I'd love to - and I'd _really_ love to - I don't want it to be any more evident than it already is that I spent the night having sex."

"I understand. I have a homily to write still." He retreats to her room and dresses quickly, deciding to shower once he's back in the rectory. A stab of something not quite akin to guilt, pokes at his belly as he thinks of the rectory, his homily, and how happy he'd be to ignore it all in favor of spending the rest of the day in her bed.

Minutes later he emerges from her bedroom to find Olivia sweeping up her shattered lamp. He has to stifle a moan that threatens to escape his lips at the sight of her bent over. She stands as she hears him, a soft smile on her face though her eyes are tinted red.

"You okay?" Concern grips his voice.

"I'm fine," she assures. "Let me walk you to the door."

Fitz nods, choosing not to push. They reach the door and he opens it, stepping out into the hall. He pivots on his heel to say a proper goodbye, but Olivia's lips are already on his.

She's on her tippy-toes, fingers gripping his shirt, and body leaning into his. She nips and sucks at his bottom lip, dragging it into her mouth before pulling back and forcing him to chase her mouth. He does without pause, wrapping his hands around her waist and lifting her off the ground. Even when he was married, he hadn't been one for PDA, but right now he doesn't care who sees them. They exchange a few more heated, sensual kisses, humming and vibrating with want and need against one another before a snicker down the hall breaks them apart. Fitz turns to see Alicia, Olivia's thirteen year-old neighbor staring at them, making kissing face, and giggling.

"I'm going to talk to her grandmother," Olivia whispers against his lips, placing one last chase kiss to his mouth before stepping away.

"You should put some clothes on first." Fitz grins, then lets her go.

"Call me when you're free later. I should be home around 8."

"Will do, pretty girl." He runs a thumb over her bottom lip and presses a tender kiss against her forehead before turning away. He stalks towards the stairs, his steps extra light as he goes.

"So romantic!" Alicia gushes as she scrambles into her apartment, soliciting a chuckle from Fitz.

/

She picks through a lackluster bunch of pink peonies, each bouquet feeling lighter than the last. Every year she has a hard time picking just the right bunch; this year it's even worse.

"None of them are right," she huffs, frowning at a pink petal with a darkening tip.

"We do this every year, just pick one," Eli orders from besides her.

"I just want the best for mom, okay. Give me a minute." Tears spill over her eyelids and she wipes at her eyes. Eleven years and it's still as fresh as yesterday.

"The ground is going to be wet, you should've worn better shoes."

Olivia sniffles. Classic Eli, any time she shows too much too much emotion, he withdraws. "I was in a hurry and wasn't thinking." She glances down at her flip flops and rocks back on her heels.

"I can tell. What's his name?"

"This is a good bunch." Olivia holds up the flowers triumphantly. "You think?"

"They're nice. Now what's his name? You do know his name, don't you?"

Anger blooms in her chest and she scoffs, rolling her eyes before stomping away and over to a stack of baby's breath. She picks and pulls until she has a sturdy handful.

"I'll take that as a no. What happened to Jacob?"

Again Olivia scoffs. "I broke up with Jake before Christmas."

"Shame, I liked Ballard. So you've returned to old habits, then? Chasing the unattainable and taken?"

"No, I haven't. His _name_ is Fitz. We've been dating since March." Satisfied with her flower selection, her eyes dance about the shop in search of a cashier.

"How'd you meet?" Eli asks as he holds out his credit card for Olivia to take.

She bypasses his card and finally spots an open register. "Why do you care? We don't discuss these things."

The cashier begins ringing up the purchase and Olivia searches through her purse for her own wallet. Before she even gets the chance to give the cashier her card, Eli extends his and the cashier takes it.

"I could've bought them." Olivia hisses as she snatches the flowers off the counter and makes a beeline for the car.

"Contrary to what you may think of me, Olivia, I do care about you. When I see you with a man who looks to be near my age and not yours, any father with sense would worry. Especially with your history."

His words are like knives slicing at her skin. They sting and cut, causing her eyes to narrow. If he'd smacked her it would've hurt less. "I was seventeen." She growls through gritted teeth.

"And nineteen. And twenty-one…"

"God, dad, do we really have to recount all of my fucked up choices in men before we get to mom's grave?"

"Choices that I'm obligated to remind you of if I see you going back down the same road. Do you remember how things ended with Senator Davis? How old is this man?"

At the mention of Edison's name, Olivia bristles. Her bottom lip quivers and she closes her eyes to block out the memories, the sounds of the sirens, and her father's pleas for her to stay with him.

"It's not like that with Fitz. He's nothing like Edison was. He's a good man. He _is_ older than me, but its...we're...he's not taking advantage of me."

Eli holds open the passenger door and Olivia gets in, taking time to buckle her seatbelt around the flowers.

"Does he know about Edison and about what happened?"

"No, and I'm not telling him."

/

Save for the sounds of Stevie Wonder, the thirty minute drive to the cemetery is silent. Eli drums his fingers along the wheel as Olivia stares out the window, watching as large oak and maple trees weave along the road.

Her mother's grave rests atop a hill, beneath a Cherry Blossom tree, and it overlooks the ocean. The tears are imminent as Olivia reaches the stone. Shaky fingers brush the dirt from the marble and her heart aches as she lays the fresh flowers on the ground.

 _Maya Marie Pope_

 _Beloved Wife and Mother_

 _November 12, 1955 - July 15, 1995_

"I miss you, mom," a sob catches in Olivia's throat as she leans forward to kiss the stone. "I miss you so much."

/

It's 7:59pm on the dot and Fitz holds his phone in hand, eagerly waiting for the clock to strike 8pm. She's been on his mind all day. He's barely managed to draft a solid homily for morning mass because he can't stop thinking about her. She's all over him, in him – in his head. Fitz wants nothing more than to fall asleep like he had the night before, with Olivia in his arms, snuggled into his chest.

 _8:01pm._

He dials her number, his finger hovering above the send button. He doesn't want to seem too eager, too desperate. She's his drug but he doesn't want to overwhelm her.

 _8:07pm._

His phone times out, her number vanishing as the screen goes blank. He dials again.

Does she know what she's done to him? Does she know how hard of a time breathing he has without her near? Now that he's touched her, tasted her, he can't imagine life without her.

 _8:14pm._

The phone goes blank again.

She's his saving grace and his greatest sin all rolled into one. He wonders if he means half as much to her as she does to him.

 _8:17pm._

A high pitched ring jolts him from his thoughts and he nearly drops the phone. Begrudgingly he answers, looking to rush whoever it is on the other end of the line so he can call Olivia.

"Hello?"

"Hi."

 _Olivia._

Relief floods his body. "Hi."

 _8:22pm._

"I thought you were going to call me at 8?" She asks. Her voice is thick and Fitz can tell she's been crying.

"I didn't know if you were home yet," Fitz lies.

"You would've never have known had I not called you."

Fitz laughs and takes a seat on his couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

"How were things with your dad?"

"Fine. Did you write your homily?"

He doubts it, but again doesn't push. She sounds exhausted.

"I did. Maybe you can come in tomorrow and listen to it?" As soon as the words leave his mouth he looks for a way to take them back. Olivia at his sermon would only serve to distract him. He'd be trying to gauge reaction to his words instead of focusing on the gospel at hand.

"You know I don't really do the whole organized religion thing. Maybe one day, though. I missed you today."

He breathes a sigh of relief, sinking into the sofa. Flowers bloom in his belly at her admission.

"I missed you, too, Livvie. Are you okay?"

There's static on the other end of the phone, the sounds of shuffling filling the air.

"No."

"What can I do?"

"Just talk to me."

"Okay."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Y'all have DaPrince&Me, KW's birthday, and Monica's 'Love All Over Me' to thank for this update.

Working on other updates, as well.

My goal is to finish this story shortly after it's one year anniversary.

Thank you for all your comments. To the guest that asked about a Olitz/Edison triangle: have no fear, there will be NO triangles here. Though Eddison is a dark part of Olivia's past that she is indeed hiding. All will be revealed in due time. Thanks for joining me on this ride.

I hope you enjoy this.

Chapter is rated M.

-M

* * *

A 3a.m. bedtime is not an appropriate bedtime for a priest, especially when morning mass is 8a.m. sharp. Fitz stands at the pulpit, eyes bleary as he tries to shake off the tiredness buzzing through his body. Olivia had asked him to stay on the phone with her until she felt tired and he had. They'd talked nonsense for hours, discussing everything from childhood dreams to what they each ate for dinner until the sounds of her soft snores lulled him to sleep. He woke to a dead phone and a full heart. At the time there'd been no regrets - Olivia's voice is the sweetest sound he's ever heard - but now a slight twinge of remorse tugs at his tired eyes.

"Our faith grows in strength when we profess it and live it even though everyone around us is making different choices…" Fitz speaks to the parish. A small yawn escapes his lips and he shakes his head in an attempt to brighten up. He's drank two cups of coffee and he's still not fully awake. After mass he has confession for a half hour and then he needs to crunch some numbers for the education budget meeting tomorrow, too.

"When we give up possessions and leave behind a materialistic lifestyle to live according to Jesus' words, then our faith multiplies. It moves the hearts and minds of those whom we meet. It uproots sin and ignorance," he continues, slate eyes moving around the church. People nod along and children fidget in their seats. Another yawn slips from his mouth and he smiles apologetically, silently hoping no one besides God is paying attention to his current state.

But there is someone else paying attention.

He catches her out of the corner of his eye and almost forgets what he's doing and where he is. He pauses longer than necessary between words and stutters slightly, unable to take his eyes off of her. A lopsided smile dances across his face.

 _Olivia. She's here._

She slips into the back of the church, the large doors creaking slightly as they close behind her causing a couple of heads to turn. She's dressed in a soft yellow sundress that cuts off just above her knees and she's paired it with a white cardigan. A pair of white canvas sneakers adorn her toes and they squeak against the marble of the floor as she inches towards the second to last pew and quietly takes a seat. Her normally curly hair is bone straight and pulled back away from her face in a low ponytail.

'Beautiful' doesn't aptly describe Olivia; she puts Aphrodite to shame.

Fitz's lopsided smile stretches into a full on grin he has to force down, one she returns briefly before ducking her head low and reaching for a hymn book. From the first row, someone clears their throat, catching Fitz's attention and forcing him back into the moment.

"As we stand to profess our faith in an all-powerful God, let us entrust ourselves, our world and our Church to Him and commit to living His word with renewed fervor and confidence. Faith be unto Him. Amen."

/

The rest of the service is a blur. Fitz moves through the motions, collecting, blessing, kissing, advising and celebrating. He steals glances at Olivia as he goes, his heart nearly skipping straight out his chest at the mere sight of her. She stays away from the hubbub and above the fray, only joining in to drop a few dollars in the collection plate and hold hands during universal prayer. She isn't comfortable. Months ago she'd confessed to him her hesitancy with church and religion in general; a hesitancy she's faced to come here today.

After mingling with the crowd for a few moments, Fitz retires to the clergy quarters on a mission. He's determined to hang his robes and get back out to Olivia as quickly as possible. Last he'd seen of her she had been swarmed by a few students and their parents.

Tunnel vision clouds his sight as he reaches his office, pulpit robe partially over his head. He knocks his right knee into the corner of his desk and grunts as pain shoots up his thigh.

"Shit," Fitz mutters beneath his breath, huffing as he finishes dragging the robe over his head and tosses it onto his desk.

"In a hurry, Father?" Fitz hears. He turns at the sound of the voice to find Father Beene staring at him, still dressed for service.

Father Beene has been apart of St. Gabriel's parish for almost three months now. He's a lifelong priest and like Fitz, he has a background in education. That's all Fitz can gather about the man so far; their conversations are always one sided when it comes to sharing personal information.

"Just running a little warm," he lies. "Is there something I can do for you, Father Beene?"

"I saw Miss Pope in the pews today. I didn't expect to see her until August for school prep. I wasn't aware that she was Catholic."

Fitz stills at the mention of Olivia's name. He hasn't forgotten what Father Beene saw at the close of the school year almost two months prior; the incident they didn't discuss and Father Beene silently assured wouldn't go past the school walls.

"I don't believe she is, but this is a church; turning someone away isn't what we do," Fitz answers, tone terse. He turns to lean against his desk.

"Yes, yes. You're right. You two probably discuss her faith in great detail one on one," Cyrus says.

A surge of protectiveness rockets up Fitz's spine and he stands up straight, eyebrows raising. "What exactly are you trying to insinuate, Father?"

Cyrus raises his hands in surrender and takes a step back. "Nothing at all. Commendable really, the _personal_ approach you've taken with this parish."

Anger pools in Fitz's gut, paired with a tinge panic. He hasn't thought much about the ramifications of their relationship yet because it isn't anyone business at this moment. Minus the night club near her apartment a couple of nights ago, they've rarely ever done much in public besides hold hands and exchanged stolen glances. And the couple of times they held hands, they'd been in areas far outside of Mount Pleasant.

"Is there something I can do for you, Cyrus?" Fitz asks, an edge to his tone as he drops all formalities. He grips the lip of his desk until his knuckles turn ghostly white.

"God understands and forgives far more than man. Man is hypocritical and stubborn. He holds others to standards he refuses to meet himself. I understand, Father."

"Excuse me?" Confusion flits across Fitz's face. What is Father Beene playing at?

A ghost of a smirk glimmers across Cyrus's. "Make time for your own confessions, Father."

 _Make time for your own confessions, Father. Confessions. Confession. Damn it._

Fitz checks his watch. 10:43am.

In eighteen minutes, he's supposed to take confessions for a half hour. He does it every Sunday, but for some reason this Sunday's slipped his mind. Running a hand over his face in frustration, Fitz pushes away from the desk. A yawn tears from his lips and his back cracks. He needs to sleep. 3am isn't the same at forty-one as it was at twenty-one.

"Father Fitzgerald, why not return to the rectory and rest? You're clearly sleep deprived. You were teetering on your toes up on the pulpit. I can take confessions. I am your assistant, after all."

Suspicious of Cyrus's motives, Fitz moves to decline the older man's offer, but stops short as he hears Olivia's voice. She isn't speaking English, but it doesn't matter, whatever she's saying still causes Fitz's heart to skip a beat.

"Espero con ansias, Senora Garza. Fue un placer conocerla."

"Igualmente, Miss Pope. Ciao."

"Ciao."

Her voice moves closer and Father Beene clears his throat.

"Just this afternoon, Father Beene. It won't happen again." Fitz promises. He knows better than to cut his duties short; he knows she wouldn't ask that of him, but he can't stop the spurt of recklessness that grips him whenever Olivia's near. Cyrus nods and then disappears.

/

She can't find the bathroom. As many times as she's passed by the church on her way to school, this is the first time she's ever stepped foot inside. Overwhelmed is the only accurate way to describe the strange feeling that flits up and down her spine. Catholic mass leaves a lot to take in. Her household growing up had never been a religious one; it hadn't been until Maya was on her deathbed that Olivia even found out that there was a bible in their home. While in the end of her days Maya gravitated towards the word of God, thirteen year-old Olivia stayed still.

Now at twenty-four, she considers herself more spiritual rather than religious. She's read too much on church, hypocrisy, and corruption. Yet she's here. When Fitz had asked her last night she'd been taken by surprise. One of the questions she'd asked in her interview for her job had been whether or not she'd be required to attend religious courses; her apprehension is not secret. Originally she'd declined, but after waking to the sounds of his snoring at 5 in the morning, she knew she owed him.

She hangs around as the services closes and patiently waits for Fitz with the intention of taking him to brunch. Parents swarm her as someone spreads the news she's a teacher for the school. Endless names of future and past students are thrown at her and she tries to remember them all before she escapes away to the bathroom. Or what she hopes is the bathroom. She gets turned around when she's stopped by Mrs. Garza, an upcoming student's mother. Mrs. Garza speaks little English, but luckily enough Olivia speaks fluent Spanish.

They chat for a few moments as Olivia tries politely to tell the older woman she needs to go. Finally the woman understands and they split ways. She turns to hurry away, hoping to find the bathroom, but instead slams into a body. A strong pair of hands steadies her and she immediately relaxes into the familiar touch. Without thinking she moves closer to him. His hands slide over her shoulders and come to rest on her upper back.

"Hi," she whispers. Her knees suddenly feeling weak as Fitz helps her find her balance.

"Hi," he replies, his thin lips stretched into a sideways grin. "You came."

Olivia returns his smile. "You invited me."

"I did, but you said church wasn't really your thing."

"I figured I owed you after last night. You talked me to sleep."

"Normally that's a bad thing, but today I'll take it." Fitz laughs heartily though his laughter is broken up by a large yawn. He wipes at his eyes and Olivia frowns. She knew she'd kept him awake too long.

"You must be exhausted, I'm sorry. You should've told me you needed to get to sleep. I wouldn't have cared."

Fitz shrugs, rolling his shoulders. "I'm fine, Olivia. I'm an adult, I have free will. If I didn't want to stay up with you, I wouldn't have."

"Can you at least go back to your room and get some rest?"

"With you standing here and the rest of my day in front of me?"

"Fitz, go get some sleep." She insists sternly though she knows if he does retire for a nap, she'll lament the moments they could've shared.

"You're so cute when you get tough." Fitz smirks, licking his lips. His head tilts in her direction and Olivia realizes they're still holding onto each other in the middle of the church. A church that no doubt still has stragglers and passersby. Heat ripples across her cheeks and she hopes no one has seen them.

Quickly she clears her throat and gently pushes away from him, stepping back.

"This is my personal space." Olivia holds her arms up between them, "And that is yours."

"Okay, Baby. I'll make sure no one puts you in a corner either." He shakes his head, chuckling.

"Seriously, Fitz. I don't want you to get in trouble," there's a slight edge to her voice. She isn't certain what the rules are any more, nor if they had any at all to begin with. Since the first day they met a subtle emotional and mental intimacy blossomed between them. Innocent glances and accidental brushes of skin were natural - innate. Whenever they were in the same vicinity, their bodies gravitated towards each other. Now that they've added the physical portion - memories of which still cause a crimson color to tint her cheeks - her reaction to him is visceral. His mere presence stops any rational thought she has and she finds herself _needing_ him. _Wanting_ him. Yearning for his presence.

Fitz nods and huffs. "You want to get out of here then, at least?"

"Are you free?" Olivia asks.

He nods again, but the bob of his Adam's Apple tells Olivia he's not - or rather that he isn't being completely honest with her

"Just let me grab a couple of things."

/

Brunch becomes lunch back at her apartment when it takes them several minutes longer than necessary to make the hike from Mount Pleasant down to Anacostia. Containers of soul food take out dangle precariously from Olivia's fingertips in thin plastic bags. Fitz carries his own set bags, including a brief case containing a binder with budget information in it. They walk side by side towards her building, stopping briefly in front of her stoop.

Huck ducks his head as Olivia approaches. An unmistakable redness tints his features and he refuses to look Olivia in the eye. No doubt he's still thinking about what he'd interrupted two nights ago.

"Three piece fried chicken, baked beans, and greens," she tells Huck, holding out one of the bags for him to take. "There's also a bottle of water in there."

Huck nods and mumbles a 'thank you' as the couple turns to head inside.

"Try not to break anything," Huck calls after them as he takes his seat on the stoop once again.

/

Once inside her apartment, they deposit the bags of food on the kitchen counter. A large yawn escapes Olivia's mouth and she stretches, trying to shake the tired from her bones. God is she tired, but last night she just hadn't been able to fall asleep on her own. She'd missed her mother and had been far too frustrated with her father for her brain to relax on its own. It'd been Fitz's baritone voice speaking nonsense that finally lulled her to sleep.

"I'm just going to change into a pair of shorts and I'll —"

She's silenced by a kiss to the lips. Everything else - the buzzing of her refrigerator, the tiredness in her limbs, and the rumbling in her belly - fades away. Her eyes flutter close. The only thing she feels is his lips on hers, soft, warm and inviting. Her body melds into his as his arms for a cocoon around her, a shield between them and the outside world. For this one single moment everything is _right._

They break apart and Olivia cups his chin, feeling the barely there stubble on his chin. She tries to catch her breath, amazed by how something as simple as a chaste kiss could leave her speechless and her eyes glassy.

"Hi," Olivia breathes.

"Hi," Fitz repeats, his hands running gently over her back. If his goal is to start something, he's only going to suffice in putting her to sleep with his machinations. "I've been dying to do that since you walked into the church."

"Really?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Really," he agrees, his hands dropping lower until they're ghosting over the swell of her bum.

"It's a holy day, Father." Olivia teases, though heat floods her lower belly. She squirms out of his touch and turns on her heel. "Set the table and I'll be right back."

She disappears down the hall and changes into a t-shirt and cotton shorts. When she returns, he's leaning back comfortably on her couch. Their food is abandoned on the counter and his eyes are closed.

"Change of plans, Mr. Grant," Olivia announces, the edges of her mouth lifting in a smile as she grabs one of his hand and ushers him to his feet. "You're going to get some sleep. Come on."

"I don't want to sleep…" Fitz whines petulantly wiping at his eyes as she drags him towards her bedroom. His hands slip around her waist from behind and his lips fall to the crook of her neck. He places open mouth kisses along from her shoulder to chin, nipping and biting at her already warm skin. Any resolve she has is rapidly slipping away as he glides his hands up her sides. One night and he already knows how to play her body like a finely tuned instrument. His fingers dip below her waist band and her breath hitches. Lust clouds her senses and she relaxes into his touch, her legs spreading in anticipation.

"Fitz…"

"I love it when you say my name…" his teeth graze her chin and his fingers ghost across her clit.

She's ready to throw caution to the wind, crawl onto the bed and let him have her anyway he demands, but then he yawns again. She's effectively pulled from her lust haze and she wiggles out of his hold.

"Bed, now," she instructs as she tries to stop her heart from beating wildly against her chest.

"Only if you come." Fitz grins, but signs of fatigue are written all over his face. He does a good job keeping a smile on his face, but her trained eye can see his exhaustion. His shoulders are slumped and his hands drop loosely to his sides. He's definitely ready to sleep. "I'll sleep better if you're next to me."

"Only if you promise to actually get some sleep and stop trying to seduce me."

A slanted grin spreads across his face and he shrugs. "I make no promises once I'm asleep." He peels off his shoes, shirt, then his slacks. He stands before her in his powdered blue boxers and bare chest.

"Fitz. _Bed._ "

At her behest, he slides beneath the comforter and holds the blanket up for her to join him.

"Let me put the food away first." She exits the room and shoves the containers of takeout into her barren fridge. Minutes later she returns to find Fitz snoring softly, arm stretched over where she's supposed to be. Olivia smiles at the sight and takes this as her chance to unabashedly study him. He's had his chance - she'd caught him the morning after their first night together tracing her lips with the tip of his right index finger - now it's hers.

She eases her way into the bed and lifts up his arm, snuggling into his side. Fitz shifts against her, and her breath stills, waiting for his eyes to pop open. When they don't, she takes that as her cue to slide her palm up the bare expanse of his muscled chest. She feels the way his breath grabs at him, the way his stomach expands and contracts, dragged along by his chest as it moves. His skin is warm, nearly hot, and it is rough across his pectorals and smooth as her palm slides over the side of his torso. Her hand stills. Her fingers flex into his skin. She stares at the soft lines etched into his face, forehead, and chin. He has a scar just above his heart and she can't stop herself from pressing a feather light kiss the marred skin.

Instinctively she pushes her bare leg in between his thighs, all the way, rolling half on top of him.

"Aren't you the one who told me to sleep?" His deep voice is melodic and she feels herself arching into it. His hand flattens against her back as he pulls her close.

"Sorry…"

His lips lift into a smile, though his eyes stay closed.

"Don't be," Fitz tells her and she buries her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent.

His thumb slides up and down her spine lazily before dipping underneath the waistband of her shorts. His finger traces the narrow elastic band of her underwear and she moans, quietly giving him permission to ignore her previous demands that he sleep. He is barely beneath the fabric, but it's so intimate that her heart races.

Her hand slides down his torso, all the way to his hips, to where his boxers meet his skin. Sprawled on top of him she can feel his arousal pushing against her belly. She knows she's the one who ordered him to sleep, to rest, but the ache building between her legs refuses to be stifled.

She _wants_ him.

The air around them moves and his hand slides lower, over the curve of her as. He cups her, draws her closer and they both groan against the contact. Olivia turns her mouth away from his neck just to breathe in the growing heat. The air conditioner in her bedroom does little to quell the spark threatening to turn into a full blow explosion. The heat between them grows, although their movements remain slow, lazy, and unforced; enervation laces their touch.

Her hips rock against his and he rolls her back onto her side. She slides her hand down his waist, past the edge of his boxers and over the bare, carved curve of his hips.

"Fitz…"

She _needs_ him.

He glances at her with hooded eyes, sleep still tugging at his features.

"Need you…" she murmurs, unable to fight her desire for him anymore.

Apparently that's all Fitz needs to hear. Tired or not, the covers rustle and the bed dips. He tugs her shorts and underwear down her thighs while riding himself of his own boxers, ignoring her t-shirt. Simultaneously they both lean forward and their lips meet. Their kiss is gentle and soothing, lazy and soft before Olivia pushes for more. He's hard against her thigh, an she hooks her leg over his waist, rolling him onto his back so that she's straddling him. They hold each other's gaze for a moment longer before she slides down onto him. Fitz's hands meet her hips and his head falls back against the plush pillows that cover her bed.

Their bodies move together. Her nails dig into the skin of his chest, and they catch burning kisses.

Olivia jerks her hips in a lazy rhythm, listening as Fitz pants beneath her.

The grip he has on her hips tightens almost to the point of pain and she's certain bruises will blossom like daisies against her skin later on. He holds her tighter, rocking into her harder and a sudden urgency laces their lazy lovemaking.

God, this feels so good…and not even just the sex. Being so close to him, being so open to another person like this….

"Livvie…" Fitz whispers and it's the most erotic and soothing sound she's ever heard. His eyes squeeze shut and he thrusts up into her. "I'm gonna…you're…"

"Fitz…" she moans, rolling her hips faster. The grip he has on her tightens and she falls forward to kiss him, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip, and her movements grow frantic. "Come…" she encourages, a familiar pleasure budding within her as she feels herself begin to tighten around him.

He slams her down onto him, buries himself deep as he explodes. Olivia isn't far behind and she collapses against his chest.

They still long moments after, finding their way back down from this high. Fitz's arms are wrapped tightly around her waist and they're both fighting to catch their breath.

Olivia's the first to speak, "I think I'm falling in love with you."


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to update, loves. I haven't abandoned anything. I've spent the last couple of weeks in the hospital and my health right now is just all in the dirt. I even had surgery on my birthday. Long story short, it's been rough and my rehab has been shaky, which has meant time away from the things I love, like writing. Buuuut I did manage to get this out when I probably should've been sleeping nonetheless. Anyways, happy Scandal Thursday, I think? I'm only just starting to get slightly emotional about the end bc I haven't really been into the show heavily since s2. The finale will be bittersweet, though, but here's to hoping it'll at least be decent.

and oh...I got into graduate school! yaaaaay.

thanks for sticking around.

i might've busted a bubble here...please don't kill me. on the bright side, a question is answered?

* * *

 _She what?_

Between the high of his orgasm and the feel of Olivia against his chest, Fitz isn't sure he can trust his ears. His hands still against the material of her t-shirt and he tilts his chin downwards in hopes of catching a glimpse of her face to gauge her thoughts. His eyes till over the slope of her nose as Olivia looks up. Her dark eyes are wide with fear and laced with uncertainty.

 _I think I'm falling in love with you._

A gaping silence passes between them and Fitz mulls over each word in his head. Four words sit at the tip of his tongue, but he's so cut off guard by her admission that he doesn't know how to confess his; he feels the same way.

Olivia's become such a large part of his existence that without her, he isn't certain he can function. Every emotion in him is controlled by the look on her face. He needs her. At times he feels like he can't breathe without her. He needs her so much sometimes that he can't sleep without at least hearing her voice.

He feels the same.

 _I think I love you, too. I think - I am in love with you, too._

He isn't quick enough and his untimely silence fails him.

Olivia scurries out of his arms and he groans at the loss of intimate contact.

"I shouldn't have said it, I'm sorry. Don't...don't feel like you have to say it back. Please _don't_ say it back," she says as she hurries out of the bedroom. Minutes later he hears the bathroom door close and the sound of water running.

Fitz sits up, confused, the entire hour is a blur. From the train ride, to the restaurant, to the sex and then love making… He swears he has whiplash. A tired yawn slips from Fitz's lips and he stands to find his boxers. They're on the floor near the side of the bed it now feels like Olivia had slipped into hours ago and not minutes.

"Liv, Livvie…" he calls out, wondering what in the world has just happened. He needs to tell her he feels the same. He wants to tell her he feels the same.

Fitz makes the trek towards the bathroom, but Olivia's already on her way back.

"Liv," Fitz tries, but she shakes her head.

Her eyes are rimmed red and she pushes past him, to the linen closet at the opposite end of the hallway. She rips down a set of sheets and a thin comforter before heading back into her bedroom. No words leave her lips as she tears at the bed sheets, changing them hurriedly.

"Olivia…"

Again, she doesn't look at him.

"I'm just going to change these and let you sleep. I'm…"

She's spiraling. He can see it as she makes the bed, the t-shirt she wears inching up, threatening to expose her bare bottom. Licentious thoughts threaten to find their way into Fitz's mind - he is only human after all - but he stops himself. He crosses the room and grabs her hands wrapped in the the comforter.

"O-liv-i-a. Stop."

Finally she does, turning to look at him. Her chest heaves as she expels a hot puff of breath. "Don't say it back just to say it, please. Just...just don't say anything."

Fitz's brows knot in confusion.

"Please don't. Just don't say anything."

"Liv, you can't tell me you might be in love with me and then run away before I can say anything. I was silent earlier because I was thinking just how much in lo—"

Her fingers clamp down around his lips and she shushes him, panic all over her face. "Fitz, don't. I don't want you to feel obligated because I said it. That's not the way I want to hear it."

"Idunmeealoblimated," Fitz mumbles against her hand. Unintelligible sounds come from his mouth. Whiplash, she's giving him whiplash. "Uh-livmah, I lo…"

The grip she has on his lips tightens. "Don't," she warns, eyes brimming with tears. "There are things you don't know about me yet. Things I need to tell you before you decide to say those words to me. Things I can't tell you right now."

His stomach sours at her words, nerves bubbling. What does she mean? What can't she tell him? He's told her everything. His wife, his children, his suicide attempt. She knows it all, but there's still parts of her she can't share with him. The feeling this knowledge leaves behind is unsettling. He begins to think of how much and how little he knows about her. Up until the day prior, he didn't even know her father was in the state. What else doesn't he know?

Gently he pries her fingers from his mouth, taking her hands in his. "There's nothing you can tell me that will make me lo—"

"Fitz…"

"You any less. You are a remarkable woman and I'd be foolish to let anything get in the way of us."

Olivia's eyes water and she lets her forehead fall against his chest.

/

(Two weeks later)

"So you've known him a year and have been officially dating him since March. Now it's July and you're having unprotected sex with him? Oh _and_ telling him you love him." Abigail Whelan, Olivia's friend (and the third of the terrible trio) asks as she sticks a bottle of wine in the bright red Target basket Olivia pushes in front of her. "Where's his jimmy been that you're okay with riding the wave sans bathing suit?"

Olivia fights the urge to slam her head down on the handle of the cart at her friends choice of words. They've been friends since grade-school, but Abby never ceases to amaze.

"It hasn't been _any_ where in ten years."

"I call bullshit. What kind of red blooded American man - gay or straight - just decides to be celibate for ten years? He's humping someone," Abby concludes, dumping a several bags of chips into the basket.

A woman in front of them in the snack aisle gives pause, turning to stare at the two. Olivia gives the woman a slanted smile, embarrassment blooming in her belly. She hurriedly pushes past the woman in the hopes of moving towards the school supply aisle. July is careening to a close and she's eager to begin prepping her room.

"He has his reasons, Abbs. Reasons I'm not about to start explaining to you, but yes he was celibate for that long. It's not hard to believe." She's yet to tell anyone that Fitz is a priest and her boss.

Abby chortles, shaking her head as she shifts the grocery cart in the opposite direction. Olivia grits her teeth, trying not to growl as they proceed down the soda aisle.

"Reasons? What does that even mean? Ooooh, Harrison said he was old. Can he not get it up?"

Olivia halts the buggy, her mouth dropping open slightly.

"Was there like some traumatic experience and you've brought him out of his sexual drought? Are you like his sexual saving grace? It was his Jimmy but the temperature of the water he'd been swimming in? He leave his of age wife to screw you?" Abby continues.

"Jesus, Abby! No! Oh my god!" Olivia shouts, soliciting a few pauses from the people around them. She ducks her head low, heat rolling off her shoulders. "His wife is deceased; he's not _that_ old, and he has sex just fine thank you very much."

"Does he take the little—"

"No, he doesn't take viagra either. Can we please just go over to the school supplies now before I change my mind about having you _and_ Harrison in my apartment tonight?"

Abby shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly before leading the buggy towards the school supply aisle, finally.

A scowl crosses Olivia's face as she follows her friend. Two weeks have come and gone since she's all but told Fitz she loves him. In those two weeks he's tried relentlessly to return her words, to say them back, and she's dodged every attempt, each time her mind going back to her brief conversation with her father about Edison. How could Fitz love her when he doesn't know all of her?

"Olivia, are you coming?" Abby calls, snapping Olivia into attention.

/

"Shit, Abby, I forgot my card," Olivia says as Abby turns the ignition and moves to pull her car out of the parking lot.

"Well, go get it. Come on, let's go. Harrison's supposed to be at your place in an hour and you know traffic. It's a half-hour at least back to your place on a good day."

Olivia bites back a comment about how she wouldn't have forgotten her credit card had Abby not been asking her lewd questions in the company of the cashier, but refrains. She scurries from the car and makes her way back through the familiar bright white and red doors. She's through the second double doors and on her way to the cashier she'd just left when she hip checks a buggy.

"Son of a —" Olivia growls, pausing. A summer dress is no match for hard plastic.

"Oh, miss, I'm extremely — Oh, Miss Pope."

Olivia takes a step back, hand on her sore hip, to size up the man who owns the cart she's just run into.

It's Father Beene.

"Father Beene, hi. I'm sorry. I was rushing and…"

"Oh no, Miss Pope. Mess is mine. I wasn't paying attention to what's in front of me," Cyrus apologises, pulling back his buggy so that he's out of the way. Olivia follows suit, knowing she'll be hearing Abby's mouth, but knows when to also mind her manners.

"I'm sorry we haven't spoken much. You came in at such an odd time in the school year. I'm happy to be working alongside you, though. St. Gabriel's is one of the best things that happened to me. I love the children and I love to teach," Olivia says with a smile.

A half smile tugs at the old man's cheeks and he nods his head knowingly. "I'm sure it's not just the children that keep you coming back to St. Gabriels. You and Father Fitzgerald are quite chummy."

Olivia narrows her eyes, a confused smile mars her features. "Excuse me?"

"You and Father Fitzgerald. Oh don't play coy with me Miss Pope. It's a chore for that man to keep his hands to himself when you're around."

An unsettled feeling washes over Olivia. What's he playing at? "We're just friends, Father Beene. Close friends."

"Friends," Cyrus repeats, the grin on his face stretching. "Friends who kiss and hold hands around DC. He's a priest Miss Pope, though I hope you're not Mary Magdalene."

"I— you. He - I...how?"

"I've been in DC a long time. I like to know the people I'll be working with an under. Now, I don't know your angle here. He's twice your age and an actual man of the cloth. I'm not sure what you're looking to gain by seducing him. I can tell you what he will lose. The archdiocese has far too much on its hands with Catholic sex scandals left and right. Sure you're a woman, but you're a very young woman. Which the press will have a field day with. Not to mention you're his subordinate so they'll say it was coercion…"

"It's never…"

"He'll be branded a pervert amongst other things. Removed from his position at the school. Perhaps laicized. Who knows. It just won't end well and outside of you calling on daddy to find a job and Father Fitzgerald ending up ousted or on the opposite side of the country."

Olivia's speechless as Father Beene's tirade concludes with a slanted smile. The unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach morphs into a nauseous one. She forgets what she's even returned to the store.

"It's okay to be a bit speechless, Olivia. I get it, you haven't looked at the bigger picture here so you're naturally overwhelmed. I'd just be careful. Be more aware of what you're doing and what it could cost everyone."

Olivia's head shoots up and her eyes narrow. It's true; she and Fitz have been too caught up in each other to truly assess the gravity of their relationship. He's assured her time and time again to not worry about it, but now as she stands across from Father Beene, the old man's slanted smile everything but friendly, she worries. Her temples throb and her palms grow sweaty; she fights hard to find her voice.

"You're...are you threatening me - us?" she has to force her voice not to shake.

Father Beene's mouth drops open in apparent shock and he shakes his head. "Miss Pope - may I call you Olivia? Olivia, I'd never. I'm just showing you the semantics. That's all. I'm your friend here, Olivia. You can trust me."

Olivia's eyes narrow further and she tilts her head. She feels like he's the snake in the Garden of Eden. The white collar around his neck says trust me, but the horns on his head say don't.

"There you are!" Abby's voice interrupts. She's standing inside the doors with a hand on her hip and her hair on fire in the sunlight. "Is your brain sex-fried or what? I thought something happened to you. Go get your card and come on!"

"Good-bye, Miss Pope. See you soon." Father Beene winks as pushes his buggy the rest of the way out.

/

Fitz stretches in his chair, the upcoming school year budget is finally on its way to being finalized. This is the time of the year where he pulls double duty. Between homilies and pink slips, he leads his flock and tends to his duties as principal. It's been hard for him as of late to keep focused; his mind tends to stray and fill with images of Olivia. She's a hard one to crack and he's been trying for two weeks to tell her how he feels. He's also been trying to find a way to get her to open up to him about why she won't let him say it. She's hiding something and while he doesn't want to push, he wishes she would just pull the bandaid off already.

He doesn't realise he's dazed off into a knock on his office door shakes him awake. He sits up at his desk, smiling as he's greeted by a photo of last year's staff. His eyes automatically travel to the middle, where he stands proudly. In front of him Olivia holds up a Saint Gabriel sign. He remembers how much self-restraint he'd exercised that day, desperate to touch her, but unable to do so in public.

The knock sounds again and Fitz wipes at his eyes. It's no more than 6pm and normally after a day well done, he'd call Olivia to see if she wanted dinner or just to simple speak with her, but tonight she's spending time as the terrible three. He's curious to know just what the terrible three means, but didn't ask. He'd just smiled and lamented the night he'd spend alone.

"Come in," Fitz calls, standing to greet his guest. His mouth falls open slightly at the sight of the man in front of him - their last meeting unforgettable. It's Olivia's father. "I…"

"Eli, Father. Eli Pope." Eli holds his hand out for Fitz to take and suddenly Fitz feels as if the room is on fire. He hasn't had to deal with an angry father in nearly twenty years in this capacity.

"Mr. Pope," he repeats, a nervous grin on his features. "What do I owe this visit to?"

"You might want to shut your door, Father," Eli suggests with a quirk of his eyebrows. His posture reminds Fitz of Olivia and he shivers at the thought.

Fitz does as the older man instructs, letting his door shut with a soft click. When he turns back around, Eli holds up the photo Fitz had been staring at moments ago.

"My baby truly is a gem. I like to think she's still going through her teen phase when she slings her 'I hate yous' at me, but I know it's because she misses her mother. I also wasn't the best father to her when she was a girl. That might be my biggest regret in this life. I gave her everything a teen girl could've asked for without hesitation, but I didn't give her my attention. Now she looks for it in places she shouldn't." Eli pivots on his right heel and leans against Fitz's desk, setting the photo back down.

Fitz's eyebrows raise at the older man's comments. He doesn't know where this visit came from or how to respond.

"How did you...did Olivia tells you?"

"She told me that she met you at work. Understandable. Imagine my surprise though when I found out you were her boss. I was less surprised than finding out you were a priest. The Catholic Church has just been a cesspool of debauchery as of late," the old man pauses for effect, pushing away from the desk and walking around it to sit. "Please, sit, son. Don't feel the need to guard the door. Or perhaps make a run for it?" Eli laughs.

"Mr. Pope, may I ask why you're here tonight?" Fitz attempts to cut to the point, but as quickly as Eli's laughter starts, it ceases.

"She's twenty-four. She'll be twenty-five in September, granted, but she's still twenty-four. How old are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"I asked how old you are, son? I could easily find out. I have friends in most government agencies in this town if you don't want to tell me. My guess is 45."

"I'm 41."

"I'm fifty-two. Do you know what that means? It means you and I are closer in age that you and her. What do you possibly have to talk about with someone who was still attached to her mother's breast when you were probably pulling down your pants for your first piece of ass?"

Fitz balks at the vulgar picture Eli's words draw. "Sir, we are in a house of God, if you could refrain from the use of such—"

"You don't have a leg to stand on here son, not when you're screwing my daughter while wearing that collar around your neck. Do you know what you are?"

Anger swirls in Fitz's stomach and he feels he forces himself to stay rooted to the floor when his thoughts about the man in front of him are anything but priestly.

"You're her daddy issues resurfacing. And you're not the worst, not in the slightest. Though you quite possibly are the most peculiar."

Fitz's face lights up in confusion soliciting a long-drawn out 'tsk' from Eli.

"Did you really think you were the first past their prime grown man to take advantage of my daughter? She seduced her history teacher when she was seventeen. He was twenty-nine. If he'd been thirty, I could have his ass. Then there was my colleague at the smithsonian when she was nineteen. He was fifty-four and married. And last but not least, Edison Davis. Though I'm certain there are others she hasn't told me about or that I didn't discover."

Edison Davis? Fitz tilts his head. Edison Davis, as in _Senator_ Edison Davis?

"I can see the wheels turning in your head. Yes, _that_ Edison Davis. She was twenty when she began her internship for his office. He was thirty-seven and freshly married with a pregnant wife. That didn't stop him from turning my daughter out." Eli's eyes light up with flames. "He took advantage of my daughter's naivety and filled her with promises of love and courtship while recording their exploits and sharing them with anyone with a TV. When everything came to fruitrition, my daughter swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills."

Fitz sits, the room around him spinning. This is what Olivia's been hiding him from, this is the part of her she's afraid he can't love. Eli's words are too heavy and Fitz runs a hand down his face, his thoughts spiraling. Why didn't she tell him she tried to kill herself? Why didn't she tell him about the men and the Senator. Why didn't….

"She didn't tell you any of this I take it?" Eli rises to his feet. "She holds a lot in so it's unsurprising. I thought I'd finally managed to get her out of this old man phase after her in-patient treatment. She was with that nice boy Marcus and after they broke up I introduced her to Jake, and now I'm standing across from you."

"I am _not_ like those other men. I am nothing like them. I would never hurt Olivia."

"Tell me, son, has she reawakened you. Does she make you feel young? Are you with her because she _is_ young?" Eli asks, but pushes on with more questions. "Because if your answer is yes to any of those questions, you're just like those men and I will _not_ let you use my daughter."

"I am not using her. I am in love with her!" Fitz declares, voice thick with emotion.

"You don't even know her," Eli refutes. "You don't know her and clearly you've forgotten your profession and whose house this is in." With that, Eli exits, leaving a perplexed Fitz at his desk.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Okay, long time no update for this story. I apologize, but my writer's block here has been a real bitch. Pair that with my tendency to strive for perfection and here we are. Anyways, I'm continuing to burst their little happy bubble here so fair warning. Please trust me enough to pull it back together before you yell at me. Kay? Hope you enjoy and I'll try not to let the next update go this long. I can't make any promises, though. If you're following my other stories, you know I'm prepping for a cross country move for Graduate school.

Thank you for reading.

This is for Kennedy. Thank you for being you, boo.

* * *

Like ships in the night, they keep passing one another by. Phone calls shorten, visits become rare, and each makes an excuse to explain away the distance.

It isn't completely intentional, at least on Fitz's end.

Not only is he a bit lost for words when it comes to what he now knows about her, but with the school year rapidly approaching, he's been flounced by endless paperwork and problems. St. Gabriel's doors open August 28th and it's currently the first week of August. Suddenly he's found himself short staffed and in desperate need of a new mathematics teacher.

Various staff members float in and out of St. Gabriel's, pulling together their classrooms and prepping for professional development the first two weeks of August.

Three interviews sit on Fitz's docket, two men and one woman. He leaf's through the resumes from behind his desk, the high sun beating down on his neck, but he refuses to close the shades. Who knows how much sun is left before the fall swoops in?

Alejandro Suarez. B.S in Mathematics and Secondary Education, George Mason University. Baltimore Teaching Fellow. Twelve-years of experience, both in private and public education.

Bettina Delgado. B.S in Mathematics and Secondary Education. University of Michigan. D.C Teaching Fellow. Two-years of experience in public education.

Thomas Newt. B.A in Mathematics and Secondary Education. University of Florida. Former staff member at Connelly School of the Holy Child. Six years of experience.

Fitz turns back to Alejandro Suarez and peruses the man's resume more in depth. Mr. Suarez is fluent in Spanish, conversational in Italian, and holds a certification in Special Education. He's taught in the inner city and the suburbs. The more Fitz reads, the more he's almost certain that this is his missing link to a smooth school year, though the interview will be the real test.

He sets the paper in hand down and turns to read through Ms. Delgado's once more when the sound of giggling distracts him. The cadence and familiarity of the laugher draws Fitz to his feet, causing a smile to spread across his face. He hasn't heard that sound in what seems like forever.

Olivia.

Fitz moves towards Olivia's classroom, uncertain of what his goal is when he gets there. So much of the unsaid hangs between them and Fitz doesn't know how to breach the divide. If he confronts her with the knowledge her father imparted upon him, she'll run. If he doesn't, she may never tell him on her own, but he has to try, right? After all, she does love him. And he loves her, too. If only she'd let him tell her so.

As he reaches her classroom, he realizes she isn't alone. Turning into the doorway, he finds a man he doesn't recognize standing too close to Olivia for his comfort. The man is tall, around 6'2, with a trim figure; he sports a strong jaw shrouded in a well-kempt beard; his blazer, and dress shirt hugs his body well, as done his slacks; his hair is a salt and pepper color.

"Why should you never talk to pie?" The man asks, there's a slight Spanish lilt to his tone. Their shoulders brush together as he leans in to speak to Olivia.

"I don't know…" she answers, taking a step back and looking at the man with a soft smile. She looks gorgeous in her floor length powder blue sundress. A pang of jealousy shoots up Fitz's spine.

"Because he goes on forever…"

Olivia rolls her eyes, laughing gingerly at the cheesy joke. She brushes a rogue curl from her face and the man steps forward.

Another joke rattles off his lips, but Fitz doesn't hear it, instead he sees red as the man tugs on Olivia's rogue curl. His jealousy spikes and her father's words force their way back into his memory.

 _Do you know what you are? You're her daddy issues resurfacing. Did you really think you were the first past their prime grown man to take advantage of my daughter? She seduced her history teacher when she was seventeen. Then there was my colleague at the Smithsonian when she was nineteen. He was fifty-four and married. And last but not least, Edison Davis. He was thirty-seven and freshly married with a pregnant wife. I thought I'd finally managed to get her out of this old man phase…._

He clears his throat, pushing away from the doorway in measured steps. Steam just about pours from his ears as he interrupts the scene in front of him. Both Olivia and her friend turn towards him, stepping away from each other.

"Fit— Father Fitzgerald, I didn't see you standing there," Olivia stammers, shuffling her weight on her feet. She looks uncomfortable as she folds her arms across her chest.

 _Yeah, right, you were too busy with your new boyfriend. Guess your father was right._ "I just heard the laughing from my office, and since I have some time between now and my interview, decided to come and see what's so funny," he all but hisses, tone terse as his eyes dart to the other man in the room and then back to Olivia.

"Father Fitzgerald? Ah, just the man I was here to see…" the other man says, but Fitz isn't paying him any mind. He's locked eyes with Olivia.

Her eyes narrow and she quirks a brow before turning away, clearly unamused. She moves to lift a box resting on the floor and the almost forgotten stranger hurries to her side.

"Let me help you, Olivia," the stranger suggests; her name rolls off her tongue, annoying Fitz, causing him to wonder just how well she knows this apparent stranger. Fitz's mind runs wild, jealousy motivating his thoughts. He imagines Olivia in this man's arms, touching and caressing him; giving herself up to his every whim.

"I'll get it," Fitz huffs angrily, trying to shake the images from his mind.

Olivia pivots on her heel, holding out a delicate hand. "I can get my own box. But thank you. Both of you." She lifts the cardboard container and effortlessly deposits it on her desk. She then crosses the room to where her bulletin boards rest, her dress clinging to her curves as she goes.

Fitz clenches his jaw tightly, watching as the stranger's eyes follow her. His nostrils flare when the guy's eyes wash up and down Olivia's backside. The green eyed monster lurking beneath Fitz's skin grows. He needs this man to go away, _now._ "Miss Pope, may I speak to you for a moment?" he asks.

"Father Fitzgerald," she starts, turning around, her dark eyes narrowed. She crosses her arms over her chest. "This is Mr. Suarez. Mr. Suarez, this is Father Fitzgerald, I believe you two are waiting for one another."

 _Mr. Suarez? As in…_

"Suarez, as in Alejandro Suarez?" Fitz asks.

"That would be me," Alejandro confirms. "And you must be Father Fitzgerald." He closes the distance between he and Fitz, holding out his hand for Fitz to take. Suddenly the man has an air of professionality about him, but Fitz's dislike is immediate and immense.

Fitz takes Alejandro's hand, gripping it in a firm shake.

"What a grip for a priest, eh? Box in your spare time?" Alejandro jokes, but Fitz remains stone-faced.

"I hadn't realized you were here. I apologize. We could've already finished and gotten you on with your day."

"My apologies. I was distracted by this young, fine educator moving desks." Alejandro gestures towards Olivia and Fitz lets his hand go, afraid of what he'll do if he keeps holding on. He's starting to forget that he's a priest. "I found myself compelled to help and time must've gotten away from me. I don't believe I'm late, though. It's only 2:48pm, our interview isn't scheduled until 3pm."

 _Young, fine educator._ Fitz seethes. His fists involuntarily flex at his sides. Alejandro Suarez is perfect on paper, but in person, Fitz is close to taking his head off. "Let's start now, shall we?" He turns on his heels and walks away.

/

Forty-five minutes later, Mr. Suarez and Fitz part ways.

The other man is perfect; everything Fitz is looking for in a teacher. Educated, dedicated, and even Catholic – a fact sure enough to comfort parents – but he's also flirtatious. And the current object of his affections is unacceptable.

Once more Fitz finds himself standing in the doorway of her classroom. She sits at her desk, scratching something on a notepad. Her curly hair is pulled back away from her face and her tongue sticks out from between her perfect lips. He's missed her in the moments they've spent apart and wonders if this is what the entire school year will be like. They've become so caught up in one another this past summer that it hasn't hit him until now that once the school year starts, their priorities change. They become boss and subordinate again.

He sighs heavily, catching Olivia's attention. He smiles as their eyes meet, but Olivia doesn't return the gesture.

"Next time why don't you just pee on my leg. I hear it works well for dogs looking to mark their territory," Olivia deadpans before turning back to the notebook in front of her.

Fitz's eyes go wide at her words and his mouth falls open slightly. So she had picked up on his jealousy…

"Livvie…"

"If there isn't anything I can do for you within a work capacity, I kindly ask that you leave me be, _Father_. I have lesson plans to re-work."

"Olivia." He moves into the room, dragging the door closed as he goes. He rounds her desk, coming to stand in front of her.

He wants to explain – no needs to – explain away the irrational spike of jealous that'd taken hold of him earlier. He runs through his words in in his head.

 _Your father told me…_

 _I thought Alejandro was your…_

 _I'm sorry_.

Immediately she rises to her feet, arms crossed in front of her. "Don't."

"Earlier, I was –" Fitz's word hang in air as a knock on the door causes him taking a step back. Seconds later the door opens. Father Beene stands in the doorway, slate eyes bouncing between the two. A ghost of a smile forms on the older man's lips.

"Father Fitzgerald, there's a Bettina Delgado here for you."

"I'll be right there. Miss Pope, may we continue this later?" he turns back towards Olivia, who's currently packing up her notebook and materials. She suddenly seems to be in a rush.

"My apologies, Father. I have somewhere to be," Olivia tells him, her voice wavers slightly. She seems harried and flustered, causing Fitz's brows to furrow. Something's wrong.

"Liv?"

Father Beene clears his throat. "Father, Miss Delgado."

"Right, coming."

/

Beads of sweat roll down Olivia's back as she chews on crushed ice and sips her from her thrice filled glass of Fonseca Vintage Port 1997. Her air conditioner's busted and the temperature outside is bordering on an oppressive 93 degrees. It's the cherry on top of a stressful day that leaves her gritting her teeth. She should've listened to her instincts that morning when her train had rolled in an hour late and just stayed home. If she had, she wouldn't have had to deal with Fitz and his macho man routine. The entire scene that'd unfolded earlier had ticked her off to no end, but it'd been Father Beene's appearance that had rattled her to her core.

She isn't sure what to do about the old man whose words feel more like threats than suggestions. Beneath his harmless smile sits a wolf in waiting. He wants _something_ and Olivia has yet to figure out what or whether his motives are malicious or good-willed. Father Beene is right; Fitz _is_ a priest. Where does she think their relationship could possibly go? Where _could_ it go without Fitz losing everything?

Olivia's stomach sinks at the thought. They've never discussed what this thing between them is and where they both saw it ending. Now she's afraid of the pressure she's inadvertently put on him with her stupid confession of love. She'd meant it – she means it, but with Cyrus looming, it suddenly feels wrong. Like what they're doing is wrong.

A knock at the door shakes Olivia from her thoughts. It takes her a moment to slide out from between her coffee table and couch. Her knees crack as she gets to her feet and tugs on her shorts that ride up her legs. Stupid broken air conditioner.

She reaches the door and glances through the peephole. Her breath catches in her throat. On the opposite side of her door stands Fitz, dressed in a light grey t-shirt that clings to his chest almost tight enough to make Olivia forget how much of an asshole he'd been earlier. She presses her forehead against the warm wood of her apartment door, her hand resting lightly on the handle. She's afraid to let him in when her thoughts are all over the place.

"Livvie, I know you're in there. Huck already told me you haven't left since you got home. I came to say I'm sorry. Please don't make me say it through the door."

A beat passes and Olivia sighs heavily, swinging her door open. She tilts her chin, places a hand on her hip.

"Apology accepted. Good night," she moves to shut her door, but Fitz stops her.

"Wait, Liv, can we talk? Please? I feel like we haven't talked in weeks."

Because they haven't. Not really. Ever since her impromptu love confession there's been a growing chasm between them. One with words unsaid and fears unexpressed. One Olivia isn't sure should be repaired.

"We're both busy with school right now, Fitz. It's okay. Now I should really get to bed."

"Just ten minutes, please?" He gives her those big baby blues and they sparkle in the white light of her hallway.

She steps aside, ushering him in, and closing the door behind him.

"I was a jerk earlier. I didn't mean to make you feel like a piece of property."

She chortles, shaking her head. "Fitz, you didn't…"

" _Next time why don't you just pee on my leg. I hear it works well for dogs looking to mark their territory_ ," he repeats her words back to her in a high-pitched feminine-like voice.

Olivia rolls her eyes. "The jealousy thing isn't cute. Men look at me all the time. Hell, a day without sexual harassment on the train is like finding a unicorn."

Fitz's jaw hardens and Olivia watches as his hands flex at his sides. Men and their egos.

Ugh.

"He was leering at you and he touched you," Fitz defends.

"He touched my hair –which is a whole different nightmare – but you didn't need to puff out your chest and go to the mat to try and grab an empty box out of my hand."

"He was clearly coming on to you, standing too close, and making you laugh. I just let my brain get the better of me and could clearly see him being your type."

"My type?" Olivia repeats, raising a brow. How had Fitz drawn that conclusion when Olivia hadn't even thought about Alejandro Suarez in that way? He'd been an interesting man to share a ten minute conversation with, but that'd been it. Had he not insisted on helping her rearrange her classroom, she would not have sought him out in any capacity. "What's that even supposed to mean? I'd been talking to him for ten minutes before you popped up."

A look of uncertainty falls across Fitz face and he shuffles his weight. He looks uncomfortable, as if he's hiding something from her.

"Fitz, do you really think I'd do that to you? Do you think I'd do that at my job?" Disbelief rides high in her tone as she speaks.

"That's how we met, Olivia. I came to help you in your classroom at the beginning of last year. And you have to admit, Mr. Suarez and I have a couple of things in common."

Confusion colors Olivia's expression. "Like what? He isn't a priest and he teaches Math. That's all I even know about him. What are you getting at?"

"He's thirty-eight."

" _And_?"

"And you have issues with your father!" he blurts out. "The other men – the ones you don't want to tell me about. They were all like me – like Suarez. Significantly older than you. The Smithsonian guy. Your teacher. Edison Davis."

 _Edison Davis._ The name is like a knife to her throat. It causes her eyes to wide, her mouth to go dry and her heart to sink to the balls of her feet. A mixture of anger and shame swells in the pit of her stomach. Edison Davis had hurt her to the point of no return. She'd played with fire and had been rightfully burnt.

Anger overwhelms shame and Olivia's eyes narrow. Despite the knot swelling in her throat, she finds her voice. She forces it to remain low and steady even though she wants to shout, scream, and cry. "What'd you do? Hire a private investigator to dig through my past?"

"Liv—"

"Did you find everything you were looking for or do you want all of the sordid details?" she growls. "You just couldn't wait for me to tell you on my own? You had to go snooping and then make wild accusations about something you know nothing about." Hot tears slip down her cheeks.

"I wasn't—I didn't. Your father came to me. _He_ told me. He threatened me... Look, I would never. I...can we just start over. Please. Just let me apologize without chewing on my foot," Fitz tries. He reaches a hand out, but Olivia takes a step back, towards her door.

"I want you to leave," she tells him, pulling the door open. Her blood's boiling and her heart is hurting. She just needs a minute alone.

"Livvie…"

"Goodnight, Fitz."


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: HELLO MY LOVES! I know it's been a loooong while since you've heard from me. I managed to make my cross country move and I'm currently in my first semester of grad school. I'm pretty beat all of the time. And since my program is writing intensive, its often hard for me to write for fun after which has contributed to my lack of updates.

I'm so sorry, loves. It's been a year for me. Losing my mom, ending up in the hospital, and then moving from coast to coast. I'm still here though.

Now for this update: Sad to say it's short. It does answer a question that's been hanging around for a bit. I have a month of vacation coming up soon so I'll be updating everything with hopefully longer updates then. For now this is sort of my 'i'm not dead' reminder.

Please be aware of harsh language, mentions of questionable sexual encounters, and just all around shitty men.

* * *

Then

 _She's all too happy to prance around in her plaid shirt and white button up shirt for him, her hair pulled into long plaits that hang down her back. Fulfilling his fantasies has always been her favorite pastime and this one is his favorite._

 _Naughty schoolgirl and principal._

" _I've been such a bad girl," Olivia giggles, smacking her solid thigh with a wooden ruler. In front of her Edison chuckled, undoing the conservative Navy blue tie from around his neck and rolling up his sleeves._

" _Goddamn, Liv, it doesn't matter how many times I see you like this, each time is so much better than the last. The red lipstick was a nice touch, too."_

 _Olivia's smile widens; she beams with pride. "A nice enough touch to get you to spend the night?" she asks, eagerness seeping into her tone. She hates nights like this. Nights they spend in bed doing every dirty thing imaginable just for him to slip from her sheets and head home to his wife. She doesn't know how much longer she can wait for him to leave her. For the first time in her short twenty years alive, she's in love and she wants to tell everyone, she's dying to scream it from the rooftop, but can't; Maryanne Davis stands in her way._

" _Livvie…"_

 _Her face falls at the sound of the name he uses only when he knows he's about to break her world. She turns away from him as the tears threaten to leave tracks down her face. He can't stay._

" _I thought she was going to her mother's," Olivia can't stop the whininess that seeps into her voice. "I want to spend some time with you, Eddie, outside of your apartment._

" _Hey, hey now…" He closes the distance she's put between their bodies, and slides his arm around her waist, pulling her close. His erection is clear as day. "I love you. I want to be with you. I'm going to figure this out so we can be together. Once the baby's born, and I can talk to my lawyer, I will find a way."_

 _Olivia nods, believing him because what reason does she have to not. He went out on a limb to bring her onto his team so young and he really cares what she thinks. He values her opinion and he treats her like gold._

 _Or so she thinks._

 _She doesn't see the blinking red light coming from the wall in the corner as he slides a hand under her skirt, yanking at the stockings that cover her ass, and guides her towards the bed._

 _/_

 _A few days later she climbs the stairs to his penthouse apartment, the notes he asked her to take for yesterday's meeting freshly typed and in hand. He asked her to bring them by later, much later, but she knows he'll be taking lunch soon and since she has her own key, she's eager to surprise him. The picnic basket of strawberries and whip cream slams into her leg as she reaches his front door. The door is slightly ajar and she hears a chorus of voices. Pushing on the door slightly, but not enough to cause someone to notice, Olivia sticks her head through the spaces she's opened._

 _Edison's name sits on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't yell it out. Their relationship is somewhat of a secret. Instead her eyes sweep around the room as she notices the wide open space has become a microcosm of D.C's who's who. Senators, representatives and lobbyists — all male — sit on the leather furniture elbowing one another and laughing. They oversized TV is lit up with something Olivia can't quite make out from behind her spot at the door. Careful not to cause a scene, she drops the basket at the entrance and slips into the apartment unnoticed. She stays against the wall, wondering what everyone is doing in Edison's home without him being here._

 _But then she hears it; her own voice greets her, quickly followed by a loud slap. "Right there, Eddie…"_

 _The men laugh and Olivia's heart drops._ _ **What? It couldn't be. That wasn't her, was it?**_

" _God she has such a pretty little pussy, Edison you lucky son of a bitch!" Michael Ackley, the senior senator from Ohio calls out. Olivia notices him immediately. "How'd you pull her in the intern pool?"_

" _Well, you know…"_

 _For the first time since she's slipped into the apartment, Olivia sees Edison. He's being clapped on the back by John Hatch, the twelve year incumbent House Rep from Georgia._

 _Her eyes pivot to the TV screen and she feels like she's going to be sick. On the screen before her, she sees herself, clad only in a plaid skirt, on her knees in front of Edison. She didn't know he was recording her. Ever._

" _Want to borrow her sometime?" Edison asks, elbowing Hatch. "I'm sure she could be persuaded. I've already gotten her to do a threesome. She kept up with the pro well."_

 _Bile burns Olivia's throat and tears sting her eyes. She recalls with ease the exact day he's referring to. He'd come to her early that day, promising to stay with her all night, telling her he had a surprise. She'd been hesitant at first when the other woman had walked in, uncomfortable even. Every inch of her screamed 'no' as she silently agreed to the experimental tryst. 'Just this one time, Olivia. If you don't like it, we'll never do it again.' She'd hated it — the woman's touch; the woman's face between her legs. But she'd done it for him, she'd done it out of love, saving her tears for the bathroom later that night as Edison slipped out of bed._

" _All I've gotta do is ask, throw around some 'I love you's' and that little bitch does anything I want." Edison laughs._

 _A sob catches in Olivia's throat at his words and her legs nearly give._

 _ **That little bitch.**_

 _ **Want to borrow her sometime?**_

" _Just look at her jaw technique." Someone else calls out and the tears blind Olivia._

" _I want to fuck her!"_

" _Can I see that tape?"_

 _Edison's laughter grows above the rest and Olivia's feels as if she's been kicked down a flight of stairs._

" _We can watch it after this one," Edison says and the room breaks into whoops and whistles._

 _Olivia nearly doubles over as she scurries out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind her as she kicks over the basket of fruit and hurries down the stairs. She feels dirty, filthy. Used. The love they made, the love she thought they shared…._

 _She nearly trips on the last stair, the sound of footsteps behind her nearly causing her to pause, but keeps going._

 _Somehow she makes it home. Somehow she manages to maneuver her car through the DC streets and into the driveway of the townhome she shares with her father. She doesn't pay attention to his car in the driveway as she runs to her room, so far out of breath her chest aches._

 _She feels so fucking dirty. Filthy. Like a whore. Everything she's done to Edison the last few months, has let him do to her — things she's never wanted in a million years; the hitting, the toys, the other women — flood her memories. He'd been taping it all. Taping it and passing it around. Promising to share her with all those men._

 _The bile that's been rumbling in her stomach finally slips from her lips. All of DC has seen her on her knees. The tears don't stop until she collapses on the floor, sobs crack open her chest._

 _ **He was never going to leave his wife for you. All you were — are — is his whore. Hoelivia. All of DC knows what kind of slut you are now. They've all seen you. They want to share you. Imagine trying to get a job now. What if everyone from school finds out?**_

 _Olivia closes her eyes, covering her ears as she turns on her side and brings her knees up to her chest. She hasn't felt pain like this since her mother's death. It burns; the betrayal like a collapsed lung._

 _ **How are you so stupid? How can you be so naive? To ever think he'd actually leave his wife for you? How long did it take before you sucked him off? One, no two dates?**_

 _She forces shaky fingers into her ears, trying to drown out her own voice, but to no avail._

 _ **What would your mom say now if she could see what you've become?**_

 _The voice — her voice — grows louder and screams. Blinding rage seizes her tiny frame and climbs to her feet. Everything in her path becomes a casualty of the pain she feels. She knocks over picture frames, perfume bottles, and stuffed animals. She rips books from their pristine shelves and sends them rocketing to the floor. Soon she sits in the middle of a mess, physically spent, and wishing her mind was, too._

 _ **You don't deserve to be loved.**_

 _She doesn't realize she's climbed to her feet and gone into her father's bathroom, pulling out the pills she knows he sometimes uses to sleep. She tips the bottle to her lips swallowing pill after pill in search of the darkness, in search of silencing the voices and laughter in her head. Before she knows it, she hits ground._

/

Now.

It's amazing, she thinks, how just one mention of certain past events is like a reopening of an old, although painful wound.

Olivia doesn't like to think about Edison, about what happened that day, nor the month long stay in an inpatient psychiatric facility following her suicide attempt. The culmination of eight years of pain and anger she hadn't realized she kept shoving down and away that ended with her laying on her father's bedroom floor with a fading pulse, covered in scratch marks. Thankfully the Pope patriarch had simply been down the street, enjoying the sunshine in the park. According to the paramedics, had he just spent five more minutes away, Olivia would've died.

She curls into herself tighter, trying to block out the nearly five year old memories. It's been a few hours since her argument with Fitz and she hasn't moved from her bed. The day's events flit about her mind and she rolls over on her back, wondering if Fitz is satisfied. Now that he knows the part of her she's been trying to hide, will he finally go away? She loves him, she's in love with him, but doesn't think she deserves him. He's a good man, one full of God and grace. And her? A senator's former whore.

If the world found out…

She hugs her knees, eyes brimming with tears.

Why hadn't she let her father do what he'd wanted to Edison? Why had she fought father's blood lust for revenge?

Because an eye for an eye made the whole world blind, according to her grandmother.

Because to fight Edison meant to confess to the world what she'd done – what she'd let be done to her.

Olivia sits up in bed and dabs at her eyes. The heat is still stifling.

She needs to tell Fitz the truth.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: So, this isn't what I wanted to publish. It's a lot shorter, but between traveling and family, this is the only thing I was able to write for Christmas. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy. Once New Years is done, hopefully I'll be able to run away and get some hardcore writing done.

Merry Christmas loves. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned." Fitz's elbows rest on his knees and he sighs, the words are heavy on his tongue. The expression on Olivia's face the night prior weighs heavily on his mind. His words hurt her and he can't take them back, he can't reverse them, and for that, he's nearly inconsolable.

"Fitz," Father Stabler says. "You know we can speak in my office. We don't…"

"Here," Fitz responds, clasping his hands together, knuckles brushing against his nose, "here is better. I can't run here, I can't...I have to confess _this_ like _this._ "

"Well then, my child, go ahead."

He sighs, working a calmly hand down his face as he builds up the courage to abide by Father Stabler's encouragement. His heart catches in his throat and anxiety buzzes through his appendages. "I…. I've fallen in love with a woman, a beautiful woman; an incredibly smart and so selfless woman. I've never met someone like her before. Ever," Fitz confesses as he tries to sum up his feelings for Olivia in a concise manner.

On the other end of the confession booth, Father Stabler signals for him to continue with a soft, "yes."

"And I've broken my vow of celibacy. We've made love several times and I can't seem to feel or find guilt for my actions. For my transgressions against God as a man of the cloth…." he stops. His eyes lift to the inside of the confession booth. "Which makes me feel guilt for not feeling guilt. But the reason I'm here, the main reason is that I'm...I hurt her. I shamed her. I accused her…."

"Fitz," Father Stabler tries. "Fitzgerald…"

"I was jealous and afraid that she'd find fault in me, that her confession of love was threadbare and her past dictated her future. I'm supposed to be magnanimous, faithful. _Good._ " Fitz fires off, one word after another. "I am none of those things. Not for Olivia, not for God. I am a sham of a man. I couldn't be there for my family, I let them die. I am a failure."

"Enough, Fitzgerald!" Stabler hisses through the separator. "Stop...get out of the confessional. Come to my office, now."

The door of the separator shuts with a hollow thunk and Fitz can feel tears budding behind his eyes. His feet are lead as he stands and forces himself through the church and to Father Stabler's office.

Once inside, the damn breaks. His bottom lip trembles as he crumbles into the nearest chair. The tears are endless as Father Stabler wraps his arms around Fitz. "My son, your penchant for self blame is unhealthy...I need you to stop. I need you to breath. This isn't what you want to do. Not one bit, not at all." Stabler continues.

Fitz's shoulders roll forward as he leans into Father Stabler. Everything just feels so heavy. So lost. He's hurt Olivia, he's destroyed his faith, he's….

"Nearly a year ago we sat in this same office and I told you, Fitzgerald, that God already knew what you were going to do, and he's already forgiven you. There is no need to shed tears and you're right to feel no guilt. What you've done has already been forgiven."

The tears begin to dry as Fitz hangs onto Stabler's words, trying to remember a year ago. He'd come here, he'd been here, in the same position as now; conflicted over Olivia, at war with himself.

"This is your second chance."

Fitz pulls away from Father Stabler, his breaths evening out. He's lost his way in the last year, made missteps and mishaps, but along the way, one truth has become painfully clear. It's a truth that, if he's being honest with himself, he saw coming as soon as Olivia found his way into his heart. "I was horrible to Olivia. God may forgive me, but she has no reason to."

Father Stabler nods, a half smile on his face as he walks around his desk and takes a seat across from Fitz.

"You've broken your vows for her?"

Redness tints Fitz's cheeks as he nods. "I'm in love with her. I let my jealousy get the best of me. I let my envy doubt her."

Father Stabler nods.

"I don't know why. She's never given me any reason to doubt her. She isn't always forthcoming with information about her past, but I don't think…. I can't be a priest any more." Fitz switches gears. "I can't. I'm leaving, for her. And I want to know if I do that I'm not throwing away my relationship with God for someone who will leave. She's younger than me, she has no reason to keep me around and... " The anxieties, the ones Olivia's father stoked weeks ago, the ones he's been afraid to voice to Olivia run from his lips as he speaks to Father Stabler.

"I knew you'd leave, eventually."

Fitz brows furrow at Stabler's words. "Excuse me?"

"You were built to love, Fitzgerald, and not just as a priest leading his flock to their messiah. I suggested to you last year that you needed to save Olivia." Father Stabler shakes his head. "I think, I think that that is still it, but I think the person you're saving here, Fitz, is yourself."

Fitz doesn't speak.

"Unlike with God, I can't speak for Olivia. You'll only know what she's thinking if you ask her. But as someone who does speak for God, who can speak to his love and his light...I say there are other ways to serve him. Ones that don't consist of you cutting yourself off to love."

"You think I'm doing the right thing by leaving?"

"I do."

"Even if I leave for Olivia and she…"

"You're not leaving for her, you're leaving for _you_."

/

She wrings her fingers together, pushing and pulling them apart and together. Every inch of her is anxious. It's taken her two days since their fight to build up the courage to confront his findings and subsequent accusations. In those two days, he hasn't reached out to her, either. She wonders if he's chosen to cut his losses, leave her and find someone — or something else. What had she been doing chasing a priest anyways?

But she hadn't chased him, nor him her. They'd fallen together, connected like magnets and their attraction…

She feels like a jezebel. Like a simpleton wrapped in sin for falling for him as easily as she did. His heart had been on his sleeve, open to all, and she easily found herself slipping inside. A man so hurt by the world, but still so kind had been a rarity in her life. And admittedly, a few years prior, she would've gravitated towards him because of his age, his authority, her. . . daddy issues. But that isn't why she gravitated towards him now. He understood her. They shared common interests and tastes. She couldn't explain the entire reason why she gravitated towards him, but simply put, he felt _right_.

His office door is slightly ajar once she reaches it. She raises a shaky fist to knock, but the door opens. A red faced Father Beene meets her gaze.

"May God have mercy on your souls," the old man hisses, taking one look back at Fitz before storming away.

Olivia's brow raises, her bottom lip juts out slightly as she turns to meet Fitz's gaze. She has a brief moment of dejavu, of Fitz returning to Saint Gabriel's a year prior to save her from herself with Sister Langston.

"What was—" Olivia starts, but Fitz cuts her short.

"Nothing for you to worry about. Can we go somewhere and talk?"

"That's why I came here, Fitz. We...I need to explain the other night."

"And I need to apologise, please."

/

Save for the sound of the rails on the track, they ride back to DC in relative silence. Tension rolls off of both of their shoulders as they make the familiar trek up the steps to Olivia's apartment.

She's so damn nervous that she nearly drops her keys as she unlocks her door. The last person she told what she's about to tell Fitz had been her therapist. She's about to bare another part of herself to him and if he chooses to walk away from her after, it's understandable. Her life is a lot to take on, nevermind the fact that he's a priest.

"Can I get you some water, something to drink?" Olivia asks once the door's open and they're inside. She tosses her keys onto the counter.

"No, I—" he walks over to the counter and grabs her wrist. "Livvie, I've missed you so much. The other night, I was out of line. I—"

"No, I mean yes. You were, but I...Fitz, can we sit?" she asks as she leads him to the couch that seems like forever ago they'd almost made love on.

"Livvie—"

"Just, don't speak. Let me say this. Let me tell you _my_ truth."

Fitz nods.

"But when you're done, I _need_ to speak mine. I need to tell you something, Liv."

"If you can still look at me after I say what I have to say, then okay…"

"Okay."

Tears bud behind Olivia's eyes once more and she takes a shaky breath. "I have had questionable relationships in the past. With men older than me." The first admission makes her stomach drop. "And a lot of them I guess have been because I have daddy issues...or had them. My dad didn't...when my mom died from cancer, he sort of died, too. He was still here physically, but he didn't know how to be a father and it showed. My therapist says I tried to fill the void he left with older, unattainable men." She stops to collect her thoughts, thinking of everything Fitz had said days ago. A lone tear slips down her cheek. "The most unattainable came when I was twenty; I fell in love with a man by the name of Edison Davis. Head over heels in love with him. He was everything, including married. But that didn't stop me from letting him do things to me. Things I thought were love. Things...He's the reason I couldn't let you tell me that you...loved...he's. He betrayed me, Fitz. He hurt me, badly."

Her words are jumbling together in her head and she tries to sort through them, but they hurt. It's been so long since she's talked about Edison, about what happened with someone who isn't her therapist that finding a way to get it off of her back is like busting open fresh stitches. "He told me he loved me, told me he was leaving his wife and he lied. He lied to keep my clothes coming off, to keep me pliant and willing to do whatever salacious thing he wanted and I did it all. I did things with other women because he asked me. I let him…" once more she stops and bites down on her bottom lip. Another tear slips down her sharp cheek. "He recorded it all and showed it to everyone on Capitol Hill…. He showed it to them while offering to lend them to me. Like some Polly prostitute…"

Next to her Fitz intakes a sharp breathe.

"I'd never been more embarrassed in my entire life. But it wasn't just embarrassment, my heart was broken. And...and I. I don't know if I actively tried to kill myself, I just. I wanted to sleep. I swallowed some sleeping pills in my dad's cabinet and woke up in the hospital. And that's — he's why I can't. It scared me the other day to admit I love you, Fitz. Last time I loved someone he hurt me. And I don't think you'll hurt me, but I don't think I'm good enough for you, either. You deserve someone better than me; better than who and what I am." Olivia tries to explain the feelings, but her vision grows blurry; she's crying. Tears stream from her eyes. "You're such a good man and I'm—"

His mouth on hers silences her words. His kiss is hungry and eager, yet soft. He coaxes her lips apart and slides his tongue against, drawing her body to him. She sighs, relaxing into his touch, her brows unfurl, her arms wrap around his neck, and for the first time in weeks she breathes.


End file.
